Transcribed from the 1847 Aylott and Jones edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org
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THE
LIFE AND LETTERS
OF THE
REV. GEORGE MORTIMER, M.A.
RECTOR OF THORNHILL,
IN THE DIOCESE OF TORONTO, CANADA WEST.
COMPILED AND PREPARED
BY THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG, B.A.,
BRITISH CHAPLAIN OF MONTE VIDEO,
SOUTH AMERICA.
“I bear the greatest veneration for the memory of that man (Archbishop Leighton) that I do for any man; and reckon my early knowledge of him, and my long and intimate conversation with him, among the greatest blessings of my life; and for which I know I must give an account to God, at the great day, in a most particular manner.” Bishop Burnet.
LONDON:
AYLOTT AND JONES, PATERNOSTER ROW
MDCCCXLVII.
LONDON:
J. UNWIN, BUCKLERSBURY.
PREFACE.
Though I feel it to be really a privilege to be the instrument of introducing to the public the life and correspondence of the most intimate friend, especially of my early life, that I have ever possessed, and of one of the truly excellent in the earth; yet, from an unfeigned consciousness of my incompetency for the task, I would most willingly have left it to other hands, and to other hands I offered it, and urged upon them my earnest desire that they would undertake it; but from all I received excuses as to themselves, and pressing invitations to myself to engage in the work. They conceived that I might possess more materials for the purpose than any other person; but they knew not the slenderness of my capacity to prepare the memoir of one whose general character, talents and excellences, merit a much abler pen than mine, to set them forth with perspicuity and advantage.
His old friend and associate at Wellington, the Rev. John King, now Incumbent of Christ Church, Hull, to whom I wrote on the subject, thus addressed me:—“But independently of all considerations of this kind, I believe you would be much better qualified than myself, or than any other person I know, to do justice to the excellent yet peculiar character of the departed. Let me beseech you, therefore, to arrange your correspondence and materials with a view to publication.”
His excellent and much-loved sister, Mrs. Holland, wrote to me as follows:—“The early, close, continued, and personal acquaintance you had with my dear brother, constitute you, in my opinion, his most suitable biographer.”
And his brother, the Rev. Thomas Mortimer, wrote to me in a similar strain:—“On the very day that I received your letter, I was fully intending to write to you, entreating you not to abandon your design of writing a memoir of your dear departed friend, my beloved brother George. You, above all persons I know, are the man to undertake that work of love with any prospect of a successful issue. Your own correspondence with him, through such a long series of years, would alone furnish rich matter, I doubt not, for a biographer.”
Thus urged and encouraged, I was unwilling not to do my best: and if I have proved myself but an unfit steed to draw such a chariot, the friends, at least, of my dear departed friend must not forget that it was they who put me into it; and this same consideration also will, I hope, lead others to view the faults and imperfections of the work with indulgence. Happily for me, the work is one rather of selection and compilation than of original composition, and the life of my friend will suffer less from the hand that draws it up, by reason of his speaking chiefly for himself; his correspondence is, perhaps, his best memoir, and this is the kind of life that it falls to my lot to prepare of him.
The attentive perusal of his letters for publication has most vividly brought to my mind and remembrance the man whom, I can truly say, I loved almost as my own soul; very delightful was our intercourse with one another when associated together, very close was our intimacy, and warm and stedfast our friendship: and the great point of union between us, the connecting link in the chain of our connexion, was our common, and, I trust, unfeigned faith in Christ crucified for the salvation of mankind. We were neither of us originally destined for the service of the sanctuary; but it pleased God, early in life, to call us to the knowledge of himself, and to inspire us with an ardent desire to preach that gospel to others, who had ourselves been made personally sensible of the deliverance brought to the soul by it. Through God’s good providence also it was that we were both led to the same retired and secluded village of Chobham, in Surrey, where, under the instruction of the Rev. Charles Jerram, then curate of the parish, but since successively vicar of it, and Rector of Witney, Oxon, we received the finishing part of our education preparatory to our college course; and up to the time of our leaving the university, we were personally, as well as cordially, united, in no ordinary bonds of friendship, few days passing without our meeting together. From that time our personal intercourse may almost be said to have ceased; he spent a week with me in my first curacy in Bedfordshire, and I spent a week with him in Canada about two years before his death. In the intervening long period, we did not meet, I think, more than once; and that after promising one another a yearly exchange of visits, so little dependence can be placed upon the events of time. The time is coming, however, I trust, when our union will be again renewed, and become as personal and as cordial as before, but infinitely more pure and spiritual, and therefore more perfect and satisfactory—subject to no painful fluctuation or interruptions, and coeval with eternity.
Monte Video, January, 1847.
LIFE AND LETTERS.
George Mortimer, the interesting subject of the present Memoir, was the third son of Harvey Walklate Mortimer, the well known gun-maker in Fleet-street, London. He was born May 20th, 1784; and it pleased God to deprive him of his excellent mother the latter end of the following year. Thus bereaved of watchful maternal care, he was placed with a relative at Birmingham, who loved him tenderly. His health was delicate, and the deformity which ever after made “his bodily presence weak,” was caused by suffering him to sit and lie in one posture during a long illness, in which his restoration seemed impossible; God, however, was graciously pleased to spare him for future usefulness.
In the year 1787, his father again entered the married state, and George and his elder brothers were treated with the fondest attention. Little deserving of remark is known of the days of his childhood and youth; as he grew in years he attained to an average measure of bodily vigour, enjoyed a good share of health, and was generally beloved and esteemed. His first instruction was received under Doctor Hall, of East Acton; and he finished his scholastic pursuits with the Rev. Mr. Audinet, a French Protestant Clergyman, near the British Museum, who used to perform divine service in French, near the Seven Dials; here, in addition to other attainments, he acquired a knowledge of Latin and French. In November, 1798, he was bound apprentice to Mr. Otridge, a respectable bookseller in the Strand, with whom he continued for the usual period of seven years.
It is not exactly known at what period he became truly earnest and decided in the Christian life, though it appears to have been in the earlier years of his apprenticeship; and, as will hereafter be seen, he considered the late Joseph Butterworth, Esquire, for some time Member of Parliament for Dover, as his spiritual father. The first notice which we have of the state of his mind is found in a letter written to his elder sister, to whom he was fondly attached, dated August, 1801. Alluding to that happy period, he says:—
“When I first set out in the Christian race, I was mocked and laughed at, but this only drove me to my Saviour. I remember with what joy I could appeal to the Lord, and say, ‘Thou seest, O my God, what I endure for thy sake;’ and I assure you no moments were spent so pleasantly as those which I could get by myself in some retired place, to lift up my heart to God; sweet, indeed, were the comforts I thus enjoyed. I gave all into the hands of my Saviour, and everything I undertook prospered. When in want of anything, I prayed, and all my wants were supplied; indeed, I never remember anything being held from me, but, sooner or later, I saw it would have been hurtful. What encouragement to give all into his hands!”
Strand, 17th March, 1802.
It is with thankfulness to my kind and indulgent God that I can tell you my soul is in a prosperous state, and my desires after a higher degree of divine life greatly increased. The Lord is indeed blessing me; for though I still find wrong tempers unsubdued, these are my burden, and I cannot rest till I find daily pardon in the Redeemer of mankind.
Many extracts might be given from his letters written about this time to his sister, which indicate his uncommon devotedness to God, and his earnest desire for her advancement in the Christian life.
It has already been stated that he looked upon the late Mr. Jos. Butterworth as the instrument, in the Divine hand, which brought him into an acquaintance with his God and Saviour. Through the advice also of this same excellent man, it seems, he was led to turn his attention towards the service of the sanctuary; and, prior to his going up to the University, he went to the Rev. C. Jerram’s, to prepare himself for his collegiate course; and from that gentleman’s house the two following letters to his sister were written:—
Chobham House, 5th Nov. 1806.
Dear Mary,
That kind and gracious God who watches over his children for good has brought me safely to this place. The country, though at present deprived of many of its ornaments, has not lost its charms to me. I have now visited my accustomed haunts, and have experienced that pleasure in recalling past ideas, which is better conceived than expressed. On this spot I am reminded of a glorious view of the unchangeable love of God, and on that of his amazing condescension and my astonishing vileness; here I recollect the excellent Fenelon furnished me with pious considerations, and there the industrious and indefatigable bee stimulated my sloth; and the result of these recollections produced in my heart a glow of sincere affection to that God who had so variously visited me, and a determination to devote all my powers to the advancement of his glory.
Notwithstanding my haste to leave Islington, I found, on my arrival, I was the only one of Mr. Jerram’s pupils who had returned. At first I regretted not taking your advice, but the spiritual treat reserved for me soon made me change my mind. This treat was no less than the unexpected company of Mr. Venn, of Clapham. Mr. V. had come the day before to see Mr. Cecil, and spent that evening with Mr. Jerram. As it is natural when we taste fruit of a superior flavour to wish others to share our enjoyment, I could not help wishing my sister had been with me to partake of the pleasures I then received. I sat in all the luxury of silence, and listened to the gracious words which fell from his lips. Among the many things which warmed and charmed my heart, I think those made the greatest impression which related to his father. Oh, what a spiritual heavenly man! Mr. Jerram mentioned that he considered a few hours he was permitted to spend with him as the happiest and most profitable he ever experienced; “and so powerfully,” said he, “was his conversation impressed upon my mind, that it was uppermost in my thoughts for the succeeding half-year. It was such an epocha in my Christian life as I never enjoyed, either before or since.”
This day eight years I went to Mr. Otridge’s. What a variety of changes has taken place since that period! Of all I esteem that the most blessed which has brought me into my present circumstances. May God so bless me in this path that good may be imparted to my own soul, and glory ascribed to his name.
Thank you for your kind, affectionate, and Christian remembrance on my birth-day; I had quite forgotten it; but this I remember, I was more than commonly blessed in prayer, and had peculiar delight in reading the Scriptures; indeed, I intended to note it down as a day of choicest blessings. May God favour me with many such days during the year on which I have entered! May many pentecostal seasons be given; may much humiliation and self-abasement before God be daily felt; may the foot of the cross be hourly visited, and may my views be incessantly directed to Him who lives in heaven to plead for me!
I received much good lately in reading Wilberforce on Christianity. I took it up as a book which I thought I ought to read, but did not expect that rich vein of excellence which I found in almost every part of the work; his Christianity is truly vital, and his diction admirable. I have also finished the life of Judge Hale, by Burnet, and am now reading Mr. Fletcher’s Letters. I scarcely ever read a few pages without profit; the wonderful spirit of this excellent man frequently brings tears from my eyes; I stop and reflect, and would give all the world, did I possess it, could I enjoy the same spirit. I am well persuaded that no blessings, excepting these, considered merely in themselves, are worth our pursuit. Greek, Latin, and Mathematics, are but a poor portion, if we have nothing more; it is my constant endeavour, therefore, that these things should sit lightly on my mind, that, while conscientiously improving every particle of my time, I may still reserve my heart for God.
The following extract is taken from the first letter of a correspondence with the writer’s endeared friend, which lasted almost without interruption during a period of twenty years, and, at distant intervals afterwards, until about two years before his death.
TO MR. J. ARMSTRONG.
Chobham House, Jan. 13th, 1807.
My dear Friend,
Mr. J. favoured me with a sight of the letter you wrote to him. It gave me great pleasure to find you in the first class, and to hear, also, that you are fagging for your next term; though, blessed be God, human science is no indispensable requisite, either for salvation or for a minister of the Gospel, yet it possesses innumerable advantages, and I doubt not but you will hereafter reap the fruits of your present exertions. Our greatest fear, my dear Armstrong, is that we should substitute learning for religion, and lest we should endeavour to regulate our conduct more by our present supposed circumstances than by the will of God; but I am persuaded your fears on this subject are similar to my own, and, therefore, I need not enlarge. As for myself, when I sometimes stand still, and consider how ardently I am engaged about trifles, and, as Young observes,
“Wasting my strength in strenuous idleness,”
I am quite ashamed, and I go making fresh resolutions of more devotedness to God and more zeal in his service: but, alas! how little ground do I gain after all! Assist me with your prayers, your constant daily prayers; and though we are distant in place, let us meet one another in spirit. My time of evening devotion is from six to seven; let us endeavour in simplicity of heart to meet one another at this time at the throne of grace; and may God pour on each of us that which will not only impart a present blessing, but diffuse a sacred tune of heavenly affection through the residue of our lives. Our employments necessarily require the exercise of thought, and very much tend to produce what the Methodists term “distraction;” but still the constant influence of the Divine Spirit, and a continued simplicity of intention, will enable us to be recollected, even in the midst of our studies. I was very much pleased lately in reading in the “Epistles of the Apostolic Fathers” a passage in one of St. Ignatius’ Epistles, somewhat to this effect; he is giving us some directions for our conduct in life, and adds, “But even the worldly things which ye do are spiritual, for ye do all things in Jesus Christ.” Oh that this may be the temper and spirit of our lives; may all our worldly things be offered upon this altar, which sanctifies the gift; and after this transitory scene of being is ended, may we with pleasure retrace a life entirely filled with God. I remain, my dear Armstrong,
Yours, affectionately and sincerely,
G. Mortimer.
He was accustomed to spend his long vacations, during his residence at Cambridge, with a private tutor, who spent the time in some salubrious and pleasant part of the country. The following letter was written on one of those occasions, and is a proof of his taste for fine scenery, as well as of his great application to study.
TO HIS SISTER.
Dawlish, near Exeter, Aug. 12th, 1809.
My dear Sister,
You are, no doubt, returned from Broadstairs, and enjoying the pleasures arising from quiet and regular movements, and now and then, perhaps, in the midst of your retirement a thought wanders towards Devon, and you begin to wonder “what has taken the little fellow that he does not write.” I confess, time has glided on so insensibly, that I was not aware how long I had been here; I shall really feel sorry to leave my present situation, for I never spent five weeks so agreeably before. I lodge with good people, who do all they can to accommodate me. I make progress in my studies, which is another source of gratification, and I am situated in the midst of a country the most diversified and beautiful. As it is quite new to me, and I may probably never visit it again, I avail myself of the present opportunity of seeing everything worthy of notice, and since my purse will not allow me to enjoy any “leathern convenience,” I have commenced pedestrian, and frequently walk from fourteen to eighteen miles a day. I take a syllabus with me, and go over my subject in my mind, so that a peep now and then is all I require: by this method I lose no time, and combine profit with amusement. My stated walks, however, are much shorter, and devoted to relaxation only. But there is another source of gratification which I must mention, and which far exceeds all the rest; it is this, I feel I am advancing in the best of things; religion has an increasing and diffusive influence over my mind; it seems more and more my element, and I am enabled to live in that spirit which a friend of ours on a late occasion attempted to ridicule—I mean a spirit of recollection and prayer; not, indeed, so much so as I could wish, or as I ought to do, but still much more so than formerly. When my time for devotional exercises comes round, it is welcomed as the happiest of the whole day, and my Sabbaths are days of real pleasure and permanent good. May such in kind, though greater in degree, be the happy experience of my dear sister, and may no studies, no employments whatever, be prosecuted, but in subordination to those of a spiritual nature. Religion, I am persuaded, should be everything or nothing; here only a middle course is dangerous. If we profess to admire and to be influenced by heavenly objects, we should prize them above everything; and yet, alas! (O shame to our Christian profession!) to what poor and paltry considerations are they not daily sacrificed! Adieu, my dearest sister; may God preserve you pure and unspotted from the world until the day of his appearing!
Yours, most affectionately and sincerely,
Both in Christian and fraternal bonds,
G. M.
TO HIS SISTER.
Cambridge, December, 1809.
Study is, I am persuaded, at present my duty; but I shall be heartily glad when another year is over, and I shall be left to pursue the duties of the sacred office in peace and quietness, if it please God. . . . How often do I picture to myself these happy scenes, and “catch a momentary joy;” but, perhaps, this hand which now glides swiftly, along the page may soon forget to move. I may be summoned to another world in the midst of my academical pursuits, and may never have the honour granted me of building the house of God. Should this be the case, should your brother be called to the peaceful tomb before another revolving year, bear in mind, when he is gone, that his supreme wish has been unfulfilled, and that his studies and trifling successes have not so filled his mind as to call it off from the care of souls, and the earnest wish for their salvation. In this work I would gladly live and die; but the Supreme Disposer of events knows what is best, and in that I hope, not only to acquiesce, but to rejoice. You wish for my thoughts on letter-writing. I do not think you should make two copies of any letters, except it be necessary to keep one by you for reference; few such circumstances occur, and therefore I would advise you to write at once what you intend to send. I do not mean that you should put down whatever comes into your mind, but write deliberately and with caution. I would illustrate my meaning by referring to what takes place in polite conversation; supposing yourself to be in company, and obliged to converse, you would not weigh and ponder your sentences over and over, but merely endeavour to avoid anything indecorous, and to express yourself in tolerably good language; or, if you will, in the best manner you are able. When you write, then, you should endeavour to let your thoughts flow freely and easily, and express them in the most suitable words which occur at the moment, but by no means to be solicitous in seeking fine words or eloquent phrases. Horace has a famous line in his Art of Poetry, which has great strength in the original, but I must content myself with Francis’ translation,
“For if the mind with clear conceptions glow,
The willing words in just expressions flow.”
The substance of what I would say is this, having settled your subject in your mind, write at once, in the best manner you are able at the time; practice will give considerable ease, and you will shortly write, not only well, but with despatch.
TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Queen’s, June 24th, 1810.
My very dear Friend,
You are now, Armstrong, engaged in an employment to which you have been for years looking forward as the most pleasing in your life; your ardent spirit could not bear inactivity in your Master’s service, and now your wishes are granted, and you at last experience the blessedness of sounding in the ears of a thoughtless and giddy multitude the glad tidings of reconciliation through the death of our blessed Redeemer. I need scarcely tell you that you have of late engrossed many of my thoughts, and been the subject of many of my prayers. I hope that I feel no common degree of interest when I hear of any true labourer being called into the vineyard of our Lord; and shall I be less concerned when one of the dearest friends I have upon earth is called to a similar employment? You are entitled to my best of wishes; you have them freely; and I have no doubt but the blessings of God will rest upon your labours, and that many in that great and dreadful day of account—many will arise from Melchbourn and Bletsoe, and declare in the ears of an assembled world,
“I owe it to his care that I am here,
Next to Almighty grace; his faithful hand,
Regardless of the frowns he might incur,
Snatched me, reluctant, from approaching flames,
Ready to catch and burn unquenchable.”
O my friend, when I think of these inestimable blessings as connected with the sacred office, I long to lay aside the drudgery of mathematics; but I check myself; the future should employ but little of my thoughts; how to improve the present should be my principal concern. Much is to be done here as respects my studies, and much more as to the formation of my mind, the subjugation of my tempers, and the sanctification of my heart. I would, therefore, content myself with my present situation, and endeavour to make it my chief care to prepare for death and judgment. These awful concerns have, for many weeks past, engaged my mind more steadily and frequently than for some years before. I seem to myself as a dying man amidst dying men, and it is my aim to live accordingly. I have heard you say, when you were at college, that retirement and your Bible have afforded you some of the most exalted joys you ever witnessed; these joys have been lately mine. I go up to my little room (which I have fitted up and consecrated to sacred purposes alone), and there I meet my God, find my Saviour precious, and experience the gracious influence of the blessed Spirit. When my hours of retirement come round, I joyfully lay aside everything in which I may be engaged; for I feel, I know, assuredly and experimentally, that I am going up to commune with the best, the most gracious and compassionate of friends. There I leave all my cares and all my sorrows, and come down again to the concerns of life with an unburdened, soberized, and tranquil mind. Blessed be God for all his benefits! I had frequently looked forward to this last year as the most trying of the three, and had imagined that if I found it so difficult to keep my ground before, I should necessarily give way at present; but JEHOVAH has been better to me than my fears, and I have found the truth of that promise, “When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burnt, neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”
Believe me to be,
Yours, truly and affectionately,
George Mortimer.
TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Q. C., Camb., Nov. 19th, 1810.
My very dear Friend,
Within a week or two past I have had to thank my God also for many providential interferences; for success in our late examinations; for being kept most mercifully from engaging in something which would have been highly detrimental to me; for the acquisition of a most valuable Christian friend (who is a great helper of my faith, and a very pleasing and agreeable companion; he was, like myself, formerly engaged in business, and also a Methodist); as also for a providential opening of my path respecting my future situation in his church. Of all the places I have yet heard of, this seems most suited to my views and inclinations. It is, Mr. Eyton’s, of Wellington, Shropshire, six miles from Madeley, and surrounded by pious ministers. The vicar is very pious and laborious, of similar sentiments with myself, humble and affectionate. I know three men in Cambridge who are very well acquainted with him and his situation, and they each say that they would go there in preference to any place whatever. My mother and sister (to whom I wrote a few days ago concerning him) met him when in Shropshire; and they advise me by all means to accept of it. I wrote to him lately, and received an answer, which has done my heart good. I have not yet finally settled in my mind, but I shall write either to-day or to-morrow, giving my final answer. I hope to be directed from above. I would not trust my own feelings or inclinations, but in the all-wise Disposer of events. Pray for me, my dear friend, that if I should not be useful there, or in any manner out of my proper place, that something or other may intervene to put a stop to all further proceedings. I am daily obliged to make some little preparation for orders, for Mr. E. is in want of assistance. Should I go to the place, I shall endeavour to be ordained soon after I take my degree; perhaps in a month or six weeks, if I can procure a private ordination. My degree may suffer in some measure, but I cannot help that; we must expect sometimes to be called to make a little sacrifice, but it will all be eventually well.
Accept my best wishes
From your faithful and affectionate
Mortimer.
TO HIS SISTER.
Q. C. Camb. Jan. 19th, 1811.
My dearest Mary,
My time of anxiety is now completely over. I have just been admitted B.A., and have no more college matters to divide my attention, or call off my thoughts from the grand concern which lays before me. You will wish to know how I succeeded in my late struggle. I have no flaming honours to plume myself with, but through the mercy of God have passed through in such a manner as to afford cause neither for self-complacency nor discontent. I am a wrangler, though eleven from the top. My tutors, I am happy to state, tell me they are quite satisfied with my degree; as it respects myself, I have not the least wish it were otherwise. You would find it difficult to enter into my present feelings. I seem of late to have been like a ship tossed and driven by the fiercest tempests, and in danger every moment of sinking; but now I have gained the long-looked-for shore, and am enjoying for a time those sweets which my temporary leisure affords me.
TO THE REV. J. ARMSTRONG.
Q. C. Camb. Jan. 19th, 1811.
My dear Armstrong,
Your letter reached me, as you supposed it would, in the midst of a “mighty contest,” and I may congratulate myself upon having fewer bones broken than I might reasonably have expected. In all our Lord’s dealings with his people, there is the greatest display of wisdom mixed with loving kindness and mercy; to satisfy our wishes would frequently be only to administer poison instead of a balsam, and therefore He prescribes for us. With these introductory remarks you may perhaps expect to hear of some considerable disappointment in my place in the tripos, but this is not the case; I have had every reasonable expectation answered. I am eleventh wrangler, and the fifth from the bottom; had I been higher I might have been vain of my little successes; if lower, I might have felt depressed and discouraged. As it is, I am not only contented but happy; I wish I could say as much of another of the Jerramites, but I am sorry to say I cannot; poor C—, though fifth wrangler, feels quite disappointed, and receives the congratulations of his friends with a very poor grace. Our good friend Frazer is a man of a different spirit; he is third senior opt., but is nearly as much pleased with it as any in the tripos. Johnson is the highest Johnian, who is tenth wrangler, just one above your humble servant. Dicey, of Trinity, is thirteenth. The order of the men you will soon see in the Christian Observer, and therefore I need not insert them at large.
I feel quite happy, my dear friend, in having done with every academical contention. I seem now to have nothing to do but to improve my mind by the acquisition of useful knowledge, and to prepare for that most important concern, the sacred ministry. I take it very kind in your calling my mind to these things in the midst of my late hurry; we are too apt to be absorbed with the things of the moment, but through the rich mercy of God, so great has been my composure for some months past, that the Senate House and all its appendages ceased to be objects of terror or solicitude. I may account for this in a great measure from my having fixed upon the curacy which I alluded to in my last. The saving of souls seemed more important than the acquiring of honours; so that my mathematical studies were entered upon more from a sense of duty than inclination; but I must not trouble you with these reflections upon a matter which is now gone by, though gone for ever!
Adieu, my dear friend,
And believe me to remain,
Your ever faithful
George Mortimer.
As soon as he had passed through the Senate House, and taken his degree, he was desirous of entering, without delay, upon the great work which had so long engaged his thoughts; early, therefore, in the following month he accepted the curacy of Wellington, in Salop, of which parish the Rev. John Eyton was vicar; and in a letter to his sister, dated 11th Feb. 1811, after alluding to the prospect of ordination and of enjoyment with Mr. Eyton, he says:—
“My way is now clear, and all I want is gratitude to my gracious God for all his past mercies, and a richer, fuller baptism from above, to qualify me for the important, solemn duties which will soon engage my attention. I have been enabled lately to recall some of those lively feelings which I experienced when I thought of entering into the ministry; a love for immortal souls, and a desire to spend and be spent for them in every possible way, in a more constant feeling of earnest desire than when I was buried under an enormous load of academical lumber. I suffered myself to bear it as a mean to an end, but that end being obtained, I shall dismiss the larger portion for ever; what is useful I shall retain. However, I am now free from these incumbrances, and shall hope to improve my liberty by turning the habits thus acquired to beneficial purposes.”
Thus all seemed in a fair way for his immediate removal to Wellington, when an unexpected hinderance was put in the way of his ordination, by the bishop of the diocese. Such hinderances, in those days, to the dishonour of our Episcopal Bench, were frequently thrown in the way of men both of unimpeached character and of sound learning, to whose moral excellence and literary qualifications their respective colleges bore ample testimony; but they were men held in suspicion on account of their great attention to religious duties, and their warm attachment to the great doctrines of the Reformation: they were men of scriptural piety, and of sound Church-of-England principles; but they bore a name of reproach; they were considered as agitators in the Church, as holding extravagant views, and as going out of the ordinary path of formality and heartlessness, which characterized the great body of the Church in those days. Happily, such prejudices have, in a great measure, passed away, and no such obstacles exist to the ordination or preferment of men of such views and principles; not that such men are altogether exempt from slight and neglect, from discouragement and opposition, on the part of many of the rulers in the Church at this day; but they are now constrained by the weight of their character, by their well-known laborious habits in their pastoral duties, as well as by their wealth, their influence, and their number, to pay them some respect and attention; and, blessed be God! there are many of our ecclesiastical governors who now know the worth of such men, and who afford them all suitable encouragement and support.
Mr. Mortimer deeply felt this disappointment; but that God was pleased to make it the means of calling forth the exercise of his Christian grace, may be seen by the three following letters:—
TO HIS SISTER.
With a mind willing to acquiesce in whatever my God shall appoint, I am enabled to leave this and all my concerns to his gracious disposal, being fully persuaded that the Lord reigneth. If I have at all profited by past experience in anything, it is in this, a strong and operative conviction that so long as we trust in God, our concerns, however unpleasant at the time, will materially conduce to our welfare; and oh! what an intolerable load of foolish anxiety and trouble does this persuasion remove from our labouring minds! You will perhaps remember that one of the last topics of conversation, when you and Eliza so kindly accompanied me to the Wash, was the necessity of sacrificing our own will to others, if we would enjoy comfort ourselves. I was naturally led to speculate on the future, but could not help being forcibly struck with the mighty efficacy of this principle, if suffered to operate freely on our conduct.
As I think it very probable my continuance in college may be prolonged, I intend availing myself of the opportunity thus afforded me of attending a course of lectures on anatomy, chemistry and mineralogy. When I thought it my duty to ask for orders in March, I willingly gave up all thought of enjoying this gratification. I was enabled to sacrifice it to more important considerations, but since these reasons no longer exist, I shall gladly avail myself of the privilege.
Upon the subject of general knowledge for a minister, I was much pleased with Herbert’s “Priest to the Temple.” “The country parson is full of all knowledge: they say, that it is an ill mason that refuseth any stone, and there is no knowledge but serves either positively as it is, or else to illustrate some other knowledge: he condescends even to the knowledge of tillage and pasturage, and makes great use of them in teaching, because people by what they understand are best led to what they understand not.” As one means of preparing me for the great charge which lies before me, I have begun a regular course of the lives of eminently pious characters. The good I received from this kind of reading some years ago, makes me indulge the hope that it may be equally serviceable now; but I would not rest here—it is a real baptism of the Holy Spirit alone which can properly qualify me for usefulness in the pulpit, and a consistent course out of it.
TO THE REV. J. ARMSTRONG.
Q. C. Camb. Feb. 26, 1811.
My very dear Friend,
* * * * * * *
Since I last wrote to you I have been spending a few days at Islington; but my stay being very short, I was obliged to confine myself wholly to home. I visited but one person all this time. I had hoped, however, to have returned again soon, and to have done myself the pleasure of calling on my several friends; but a very unpleasant circumstance has hindered me—the bishop has refused me ordination at present: and I am under the necessity of waiting till it shall please my gracious God to show my path. My vicar is a notorious character, and my friends have all along been apprehensive lest I should find some difficulty in getting ordained to his curacy. I must say, I shall not be a little disappointed should I be obliged to relinquish all thought of Wellington; but the matter is in the Lord’s hands, and I would willingly leave it to his all-wise disposal. If I have learned anything by my past experience, it is this, to feel fully persuaded that all our concerns, however unpleasant they may be at the present, will, either in this world or in the world to come, terminate in our good. In affairs of this kind it is better to make as little fuss as possible: I must therefore beg you will not mention it to any one. I shall wait quietly for the present, in hope that the bishop may relent; but should not this be the case, I must content myself with some other situation. Poor G. is similarly circumstanced with myself; he has been refused three times, and that, too, in spite of the interest of the Master; he wishes to be ordained on his Coll. Fellowship, and that lover of the truth, the good Bishop of Ely, has every time put a spoke in his wheel. But what a mercy it is that, notwithstanding all the opposition which serious candidates meet with, still they are not, cannot be, entirely hindered and excluded! * * * * * *
And believe me to remain,
Your ever faithful and affectionate
Mortimer.
TO HIS SISTER.
Cambridge, March 2, 1811.
I had imagined, some months ago, that the exercise of mind I was under when preparing for the Senate House, was the greatest I should ever experience; I was greatly mistaken. O my sister, did you know how much I have felt lately, you would truly sympathise with me; but I now enjoy comparative rest; my feelings, indeed, have been strongly mixed, but the better have generally, though not without considerable struggle, predominated. I have enjoyed more of the power of vital religion, and that has been my support and stay; and would it but please my God to indulge me with more communion with himself, He might do with me and my poor concerns whatever might please Him. He alone is truly and absolutely necessary for my comfort, and would He but say, in my subsequent career, “My presence shall go with thee,” I should feel that enough. I could ask nothing more.
The clouds which overcast his prospect of ordination for the curacy of Wellington, were after a time dispersed, and he was admitted to deacon’s orders at Eccleshall, on the 26th of May, 1811, and on the following day he went to reside at Wellington. He not long after wrote to his sister, in reference to his new situation, as follows:—
“Through mercy I am going on pretty comfortably in parochial matters, and have reason to believe I am in the situation which God designed me to fill. My employment is my delight—my heart is in it—a circumstance I could seldom boast of when toiling through the drudgery of mathematics. Mr. E. and I go on in perfect harmony. I feel very much attached to him; and from the marks I am daily receiving of his kindness, I may conclude he looks with a favourable eye on my endeavours to help him in his important work.”
TO HIS SISTER.
Wellington, 12th November, 1811.
In my last I promised an account of my parochial proceedings: though I have nothing brilliant to communicate, yet I hope I may say, after nearly six months’ residence, that I have good ground to believe I have not mistaken my path in entering the ministry. The increase of congregation, both among the poorer as well as the richer sort, afford me some encouragement, and I have frequently observed persons manifestly affected under the word delivered. I am not so sanguine as to expect great things should be done by so feeble a labourer as myself. “The honest and good hearted” among the congregation have already gladly received and profited by the word under my most excellent vicar, and, consequently, it is not to be expected that any remarkable change should be effected; but, as I have observed before, I have perceived that the Spirit of God is among us to apply the word, and so long as persons are not completely hardened, we may indulge some hope concerning them.
A few Sundays ago I supplied the church of a neighbouring minister who has not been long in these parts. I preached from these words, “The Lord turned and looked on Peter.” I had taken another sermon with me, but some how or other could not make up my mind to preach it, and it will appear by the sequel that the Lord had some gracious purpose to answer by it. A poor woman, a former hearer of Mr. — happened to come into this part of the country, and she mentioned to her daughter that she should like to go and hear her old minister, but related at the same time a dream that she had the night before, that a strange minister at Mr. C—’s church was the means of doing her good and recovering her from her backsliding state. She accordingly came, and no sooner did I enter the desk than she said to her daughter, “That is the clergyman I dreamed of who recovered me to God.” The subject by the Divine blessing was suitable to her case, and Mr. —, who related the anecdote to me, stated, that she began with fresh earnestness to devote herself to the service of God, and gave manifest tokens of the work being from above.
TO THE REV. J. ARMSTRONG.
Wellington, September 17th, 1811.
My very dear Armstrong,
I have been regaling myself this afternoon with a perusal of a large packet of your letters, forwarded to me from time to time. They present my much esteemed friend under a great variety of feelings and circumstances: but they uniformly exhibit him as the sincere and devoted Christian, and as the warm and substantial friend. Oh, how do I pity that poor soul who has never experienced the exquisite delights of friendship! Believe me, Armstrong, I would not exchange the feelings which at present animate my soul for all the wealth in the universe. It would be bauble when contrasted with the inestimable blessing of a friend, whose heart, whose sentiments, whose pursuits, are congenial with your own. God forbid that I should ever see the time in which this blessing should he withholden from me. How do I admire those words of Shakspeare:—
“The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel.”
I lament, however, one circumstance in which my sentiments and my conduct were in this respect diametrically opposite; I mean when I so far gave way to the feelings of the moment as to write that letter, which seems to have caused you so much pain: your conciliatory answer, which I have just been reading, makes me more ashamed of myself than I can express; I hope, however, that it will prove a salutary warning through the whole of my subsequent life. You will be surprised, perhaps, at this apology made so long after the offence: I make it from a conviction that my former letter did not sufficiently express the feelings which I ought to have entertained. * * * * *
Believe me,
Your affectionately sincere
G. M.
TO THE REV. J. ARMSTRONG.
Wellington, Jan. 28th, 1812.
My very dear Friend,
I very much long to see you and your little domestic circle, and, especially so, in consequence of the information contained in your last: for I am given to understand that personal intercourse will not much longer be vouchsafed me.
Do not suppose, however, that I would wish that any personal advantage, which I might promise myself from your remaining in England, should prove the least obstacle to that most glorious work which it has pleased God to incline you to desire and pursue. I rejoice most sincerely in the grace which he has poured upon you, and I admire the leadings of Divine Providence, which have so clearly and manifestly opened your path. But still, notwithstanding the approval which my judgment is constrained to give, yet I cannot altogether divest myself of that affection which would fain induce me to chain you to some nearer spot. It tells me that real friends are few; it whispers also that, among all my friends, no one has ever yet so completely merited the name. But still, as it has pleased God to put it into the heart of my friend to undertake so noble, so glorious an employment, I cannot for a moment indulge any feeling of complaint. It is all well; and, as I said before, I rejoice in the grace and providential dealings which have been manifested on your behalf.
It requires no small measure of faith and self-denial to leave the pleasures of social life—the intercourse of friends and the innumerable ties which a long series of years has tended to strengthen. I have often gazed in silent admiration at the peculiar kind of spirit which must animate a missionary, and have concluded that it must be peculiarly acceptable in the sight of Almighty God. But, alas! much as I have admired the spirit, I feel that I have scarcely a spark of it—not, indeed, that I should find it difficult to forego the pleasures which at present surround me, not that I should be staggered at leaving my present situation to live in one which is remote, and which is now unknown to me; but that I am sensible that these feelings would not last. The inconceivable ignorance of some, the stupidity of others, and the state (I was going to say) of moral and religious incapacity, to which a long indulgence in vicious habits has reduced the generality, would check my fervour, damp my zeal, and cause me either to slacken my exertions, or else to desist from the work in despair. When we get into discouraging circumstances, how readily do we slide into despondency. We may not, perhaps, altogether lose sight of the power of God, and its all-sufficiency to help us through; but we are apt to conclude that we are not the proper instruments; that we have protruded ourselves into situations which God never designed for us; and that, though he could most easily help us, yet that, for wise purposes, he sees fit to leave us in a great measure to ourselves. Such, my dear Armstrong, are our reasonings in general, when brought into discouraging circumstances; and, from a close examination of my own heart for some years past, I am persuaded that whatever zeal and self-denial might animate me in the first instance, yet that these blessed feelings would not last when brought to those severe trials which are the lot of the missionary—I mean of that person who has to contend with all the difficulties arising from a foreign station. These difficulties, however, in your case are greatly diminished, and even were it otherwise the Spirit vouchsafed to you, may enable you to grapple with them with the greatest ease. Oh! that this may be your constant experience! I rejoice in that spirit and temper which has hitherto regulated the conduct of my friend, and my constant, my stated prayers shall ascend up before the God of power and grace, that he may ever enjoy a rich unction—a complete baptism from above.
Assure Mrs. A. of my kind regards. Much as I admire your faith and self-denial, I think that of your dear partner no less conspicuous. When God has work to be done, how sweetly can he influence our minds so as to make us co-workers with himself.
Believe me,
Your most affectionate though unworthy Friend,
G. M.
Mr. Mortimer was married February 21st, 1812, to Miss Barford, a lady of pious habits and of amiable manners, and who proved herself a most useful and affectionate helpmeet to him. In the view of this event, he prepared, some months before it took place, the following resolutions for his government in the married state:—
“Since it is very probable I shall soon be united with my dearest friend M. B., and since we are always in danger of overlooking the duties of each relation in life, while engaged in it, though, before we enter upon it, we may perceive them plainly enough, I would, therefore, now, in an humble dependence upon Almighty God, and as in his sight, set my hand to the following resolutions, which I would purpose never to swerve from upon any occasion, let it be ever so trivial:—
“1st. Since the grand secret of domestic comfort depends upon the regulation of our tempers, I would, in the first place, endeavour to keep a strict watch over these; would avoid pettishness, of every description, and would guard against a degree of pertinacity, which has always been more or less troublesome to me: would never be positive in argument, and will strive to remove every appearance of self-will, and never to oppose my dearest friend in any thing, excepting when duty imperiously calls; and even then, in such a manner as shall impress her more with an idea of my affectionate regards towards her, than of any wish to consult my own gratification.
“In the 2nd place: will cultivate a tender and affectionate manner, always seeking out means of promoting her comfort, and lessening her troubles; sharing every domestic and maternal anxiety with tender solicitude.
“In the 3rd place: will be completely open; will have no secrets; on the contrary, will consult her in everything; will give her the freest access to all my papers, letters, &c.; will also commit to her entire management all my money concerns; and will take no more for my private purse than we shall amicably settle between ourselves.
“Fourthly. With regard to company, will make choice of those persons who shall be most agreeable to herself, and will be very attentive to those of her relations with whom she may wish to be connected—especially her mother and sister.
“Fifthly. Being aware of the foolish trouble occasioned by fastidiousness in the choice of food, am determined never to express my partiality for any particular joint or dish, and never to make the smallest objection to anything which comes to table. Remember Duke Fortunatus, and the incessant squabbles occasioned by his fluctuating taste and pettish tempers.
“So lastly. As to the arrangement of domestic concerns, will interfere as little as need be, and will never meddle either in the choice or dismissal of the servants, and will be careful never to find with them unnecessary fault.
“These rules and regulations I will read over the first day of every month, so long as it shall please God to spare me, and will make them matter of most serious prayer.
“Should I see fit to make any additions to the above, will still never destroy this identical paper, but keep it as exhibiting my views previous to marriage, and as a witness against me in future life, should I deliberately violate them.
“I write these rules in my college rooms on the 20th of May, 1811, being the day on which I complete the 27th year of my age, and being also the last of my remaining in Cambridge.
“George Mortimer.”
TO THE REV. J. ARMSTRONG.
Wellington, April 10th, 1812.
My very dear Friend,
I cannot describe the feeling of regret which the receipt of your last letter occasioned, and I sit down, with depressed spirits, to dictate an answer. There is something exceedingly gloomy in the recollection that one of the dearest friends I have on earth, is about to depart to a place where there is no human probability of our ever meeting; and that he should depart also without my being permitted to look him in the face, to clasp his hand, and to bid him a parting adieu. I feel truly grieved at the circumstance, and the more so, as I had expected that you would have been detained on shore longer than the time fixed on for your departure, and consequently that you would have had some little spare time to pay us a farewell visit.
* * * * * *
I feel comforted, however, with the hope of hearing from you occasionally, and do give you my promise that I will endeavour to write to you every other month, whether I hear from you or not; and my poor scrawls shall be duly forwarded to your good brother, as you have desired. I will inform you of our proceedings here as minutely as I can; and will take care to touch upon such of a more public nature as I conceive may possibly escape the attention of your other correspondents. But while I am thus writing, I cannot conceal from my Armstrong what has recently passed in my mind. I have long thought it to be a circumstance highly disgraceful to our Church that so few individuals have appeared who are willing to leave the comforts of life, and to endeavour to forward, by their own exertions, the grand and momentous work which the God of all grace is evidently carrying forward in all quarters of the globe; and I now begin to feel a desire (should the providence of God be pleased to open my path), to step forward in this great work. I have opened the matter to my Mary, and she tells me that she is willing to accompany me to any place where I should see it my duty to go. It has pleased God to give us a competency as to this world’s goods, and should any situation similar to the one you are going to, occur, we should really feel no hesitation in accepting it. What our future path may be is uncertain; but I should not wonder if my dear Armstrong hears of our following in the steps which he has marked out for us. There seems much to be done abroad, and few inclined to do it; should, therefore, God be pleased to accept of my poor intentions to be engaged in forwarding it, I shall rejoice in the circumstance, and gladly spend and be spent in so glorious an employment. I have said to my Armstrong what has been mentioned to no other individual whatever, my Mary excepted; I must therefore request he will not make the slightest allusion to it for the present.
I have taken the liberty to send you and Mrs. A. a small token of parting love; may they prove the means of your frequently remembering the unworthy donor, and whenever you think of him offer up a silent prayer for his spiritual advancement. I have also to request that you will accept of the enclosed notes; [30] they may, perhaps, prove serviceable in procuring a few more additional comforts for your voyage and future accommodations. May the God of love accompany you in your voyage, make you abundantly useful in your passage, and still more so in your destined situation. My prayers, my best wishes, do certainly attend you; and though we may not meet on earth, yet I hope—I would I could say more, but my treacherous heart will not permit me—but still I hope that you and I, our partners, and the children whom God may graciously give us, may all meet in that blissful state above. My Mary desires her kindest regards to Mrs. A. and yourself.
Believe me,
Your ever affectionate Friend,
G. M.
TO THE REV. J. ARMSTRONG.
Wellington, July 6th, 1812.
My dear Friend,
As it respects myself, I must say that I feel the comparatively trifling duties which I have to perform to be a burden, which at times seems insupportable; but it is the burden which God has placed upon me, and, therefore, I strive to go on and to press forward, notwithstanding all my difficulties. You would hardly conceive how much I dread any public exercise until the moment in which I am actually engaged in it; I am filled with the most dismal forebodings; but then, through mercy all my fears vanish; and I have reason to believe, that my feeble efforts are not altogether in vain.
Nothing further has elapsed respecting any change in my situation. My Mary feels a good many apprehensions on the subject at present, and I believe I must leave matters till some circumstance or other makes my way clear and evident. Our time is very seldom God’s. There is a haste—a precipitancy—in our proceedings, which is never to be discovered in those of God. The creation of the world—the calling of his peculiar people—the coming of the Messiah—all show that God is slow in operation. I feel, my dear friend, that I have daily and hourly need of learning a lesson on this subject. Whenever I feel hurry of spirits, and solicited to do something or other in haste, I invariably find that it turns out badly. It is the power of the enemy—God’s procedure is orderly—calm—deliberate: he leads us gently on, and, while he forcibly convinces the mind, he opens our providential path.
* * * * * * *
We live in troublesome times, in a troublesome world. But still we have much to be thankful for, notwithstanding all, and we have a blessed hope of things infinitely better in the world to come. I delight to think of those blessed scenes, and am persuaded that we all of us lose much for want of reverting to them more frequently. With heaven in our eye, how cheerfully are we enabled to march forward; how courageously do we charge through all opposing difficulties; how contemptuously do we look upon the things of time and sense! Here was the grand support of the Redeemer; “For the joy which was set before him he endured the cross, and despised the shame.”
I have lately been very much gratified by reading a piece of Dr. Watts’ on the Separate State. We are apt to form too spiritual notions of the world to come, and, consequently, having nothing upon which we can solidly ground our investigations, we lose much of the interest and delight which would otherwise be imparted. When the literal meaning of Scripture seems to be absurd, we think we are fully justified in seeking other interpretations; but to reject the plain and obvious sense merely because it interferes with our pre-conceived notions of the subject, is, in my opinion, quite unwarrantable. We read of cities, temples, altars, mansions, feasts, trees, and rivers. And no doubt but many of our enjoyments will be exceedingly similar to those which Adam enjoyed on earth, when in a state of innocence; and it is very probable that the employments which engage us now will fit us for similar hereafter. All our peculiarities of mind and disposition will have room for their full exercise: the traveller may be permitted to take excursions into distant worlds. The philosopher may pursue, without limitation, the investigations of science and of art. The soul which is enchanted with harmony, may, like David, be the leader of some celestial band; and the divine will be delighted with fresh discoveries into the nature, the attributes, the perfections, of his God; while the other myriads of beings, each in their proper class and society, will be enjoying to the utmost of their capacity the blessings which are most calculated to administer to their delight.
* * * *
From your sincere Friend,
G. M.
TO A YOUNG LADY.
Wellington, August 13th, 1812.
You have my condolence, my dear Miss — in not being able to attend the kind of ministry you approve of. Most individuals have a turn of mind, a peculiarity of thinking, which, in a great measure, may be considered as their own; and hence it should seem advisable that when the choice rests on ourselves, we should attend that ministry which comes nearest to our own case and circumstances. But, alas! this privilege is seldom allotted us; local situation, parental restraints, and a variety of other things, render it in general necessary to attend some place or other, which is not, perhaps, in every view, that which, if left to ourselves, we would have fixed upon. The question, then, is merely this—ought we, under the circumstances, to quarrel with the dispensations of providence, or quietly and patiently submit, endeavouring to extract from existing circumstances all the good we possibly can? The language of wisdom, as well as of piety, seems to direct to the latter course, as that best calculated to promote our present comfort, and future welfare. God has certainly some wise end or other to answer in every thing of this nature, and if we recollect, at the same time, how tenderly he loves us, how much he desires our spiritual improvement, as well as our eternal felicity, we shall rest so completely satisfied that we shall not have a single desire to alter in the minutest particular. But we are too apt to lose sight of the wisdom and love of God, as connected with our affairs, we listen to the suggestions of Satan, and fondly imagine that if we had the disposal of things we could easily regulate our concerns, so as to make them more effectually conduce to our welfare. How presumptuous is such language, when stripped of its false colouring, and presented under its real and proper appearance.
On the 30th November, 1812, he writes to his sister—I think that I mentioned in my last that there was an increase of congregation, and that I could discover some traces of the operation of the Spirit of God in applying the word. These effects, I gratefully acknowledge, are still to be seen, and it has pleased God to encourage me by bringing to my knowledge two instances in which I hope a decided and saving change has been produced—one on a lady of respectability in an adjoining parish, and the other on an individual among the lower circles.
On the 11th January, 1813, he writes to the same, on the birth of his eldest son;—I feel grateful to God for his goodness and mercy, as manifested on the present occasion, and I am cheered with a pleasing hope that the deposit which has this day been placed in my hands, will become an heir of immortality, a glory to his God, and an instrument of good to all around him. He has been the subject of my prayers for some time past, and I feel persuaded that God will not disappoint my hope. I, and its dear mother, feel anxious on its account, but what is our solicitude concerning him compared with that of the dear Redeemer! How kindly is he interested in his welfare; how ardently does he long to see in him of the travail of his soul that he may be satisfied! What encouragement does this consideration afford to the exercise of patient hope and persevering prayer.
And on the 24th of the following month, he wrote in reference to the baptism of the infant. We hope, should all be well, on this day se’nnight, to devote our little charge to his gracious God in baptism. I feel it to be a solemn occasion, for I cannot but think that much, both of its future happiness and usefulness, may depend on the manner in which it is thus surrendered. I am somewhat apprehensive that we shall not quite please you with respect to the name which we think of giving it. But it has long struck me as being a foolish custom which prevails at present of giving those names by way of distinction, which, in fact, owing to their commonness, are no distinction at all. George, Thomas, Henry, John, are used from generation to generation, and thus individuals are incessantly mistaken and confounded either for other. We have, therefore, ventured to step out of the beaten track, and have accordingly fixed upon Cecil, as one which, from many pleasing associations, has become endeared to both of us.
TO HIS SISTER.
Wellington, March 16th, 1813.
I have enclosed a copy of a new edition of Alleine’s Alarm, published by Mr. Gilpin. It was this book, to which, under God, I feel indebted for the determination which some years ago I received, with respect to my views and conduct. I love it greatly in its old and less inviting garb, but far better now. Ah, my dear sister, many profess religion, many enjoy some of its comforts, feel pleasure in an attendance upon its institutions and its ordinances; but, to walk closely with God, to get a deep and thorough knowledge both of him and of our own souls, to penetrate beneath the surface of religion and to forward the life—the inward life of God in the soul, something more is required. In order to this, our eye must be kept constantly directed to one and the same point; we must learn that one thing is supereminently needful, and that everything which stands in competition with it must be considered as dung and as dross. May God in mercy impart to both of us such clear, such vivid and luminous views of its importance, that the present world and all its gaudy trifles may be lessened in our estimation, and that true and vital godliness, deep and genuine spirituality, may become more and more the objects of our pursuits. We were yesterday with dear Mrs. Fletcher, and received, as usual, much profit from her choice, savoury, and spiritual remarks. The book, which lay open before her, was her Bible. I could not help thinking how much more efficaciously we should all of us proceed, both as ministers and private Christians, if this blessed book were more frequently and more seriously perused. There is a strange feeling with respect to it existing in the minds of most persons who may be considered as even pious characters. They would not feel happy if they suffered the day to pass over without reading their chapter or chapters, but still they do it as a duty, merely as a duty. How rarely is it taken up as a privilege, as the book of books, as the very choicest treasure which we could possibly open; and yet, unless it be thus resorted to, thus feelingly read and studied, how can we expect to be great proficients in the Divine Life—how can we drink deep into the Spirit of our God? Could we see into the manner in which many individuals perform the duties of their closet, we should not be much at a loss to discover the reason of their want of spirituality. It might all be easily and naturally traced to this one single source—their hour thus set apart is gone through in a manner not very dissimilar to a horse in a mill; they go round and round with the same lifeless formality; and when their duty is over, they pass with unaltered uninfluenced feelings to anything which may next engage their attention; but how different from those who walk in their solitude with God; who go to their closets as if they were about to meet the very best friend they have upon earth; who feel heavenly emotions on every such occasion rekindled; whose hearts are made to burn within them; in short, who so wait upon God as to renew their strength; who carry from their privacy a holy influence which is easily discovered in the whole of their converse, tempers, and pursuits. Give our kind love to Eliza, and accept the same yourself. To both of you we feel no small degree of affectionate regards; we often talk of you, but still oftener make you the subject of our thoughts.
TO THE REV. J. ARMSTRONG.
Wellington, April, 1813.
My dear Friend,
I have of late been obliged to give up all thoughts of missionary exertions; my present ministerial labours (small, alas! as they are when contrasted with the more extended operations of my dear friend) are a weight which presses very heavily upon my mind; they drink up all my spirits, and have so completely transformed me from the cheerful happy individual which I formerly used to be, that could you break in upon me accidentally and unawares you would hardly recognise me for the same. Ah, my dear friend, could I have foreseen these things, I should scarcely have dared to have encountered all the anxieties and perplexities attendant upon the ministerial office. I feel indeed that I have to sustain a burden; but there is one cheering consideration—it is the Lord’s burden; it is placed and appointed by him, and if patiently sustained, not only his glory, but my own eternal welfare, and perhaps that of others also, will be advanced. But if I feel the burden so great at present, how little am I cut out for so great a work as that which you have the honour and the privilege to be employed in!
In the service of the sanctuary there were hewers of wood and drawers of water. I seem to be of this description. But, though these individuals were mean and insignificant, compared with others, yet were they useful in their way; and, if God do but bless my labours, I trust I shall be content and be willing to be employed by him to the end of my days. I would gratefully acknowledge some of his gracious manifestations in this respect. Two individuals have, I trust, been savingly brought to the knowledge of God, and some few have, in other respects, been benefited. This is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes.
But though my ministerial duties are thus oppressive, I have reason to be thankful in other respects. I have a dear wife, whom I tenderly love, and God has been pleased to present me, about three months since, with a sweet and interesting little son. He is healthy, animated, and vigorous, and proves to me a source of comfort which, I must frankly confess, I but little anticipated. I feel I have an important deposit placed within my hands; but I trust God will enable me to train him for the skies, and then all will be well. We have named him “Cecil,” after our trusty, excellent, and most valuable friend. I should have preferred to have prefixed in its stead that of my good friend whom I am addressing; but its length, as well as the number of consonants which compose it, render it as a Christian name somewhat harsh and sonorous.
Since I last wrote to you, I received a letter from our friend F—, of Trinity. It was the bearer of melancholy tidings; the cup of this excellent young man seems to be composed of sorrows peculiarly severe. He lost some time ago, as you will doubtless recollect, a tender father, under circumstances truly afflictive, and now he has lost his still dearer mother.
He heard, by letter, of her illness, rode to Inverness, where she then was, without the least intermission; but when he arrived, she was dead. The weight of this calamity upon his mind, together with the accumulated pressure of temporal and domestic concerns, have caused him to pass through deep waters; but God has given to them a sanctifying influence: you would be truly gratified at the genuine stream of piety which pervades the whole of his letter. It characterizes a real child of God.
I have lately been turning my attention towards botany. Should you ever be sending a packet to your brother, would you be so kind as to enclose me a few seeds of some of your choice and beautiful flowers; I mean those which are peculiar to your climate? You will favour me still further by affixing the names by which they are commonly known. If you have never amused yourself in this way, you will be surprised at the inexhaustible source of pleasure of which it is capable. I walked out with my Mary this morning through the adjoining country. We were pleased and exhilarated on various accounts; but our botanic pleasures were by far the greatest. Little, exquisitely tasty beauties were discovered by us, which before had completely escaped our notice; they lie before me on my table; and while I look at them, I am led to adore the Hand which so elegantly and ingeniously formed them.
* * * * * *
My best wishes and my constant weekly prayers attend you. I greatly love you—am tenderly concerned in your welfare, and shall always rejoice on being able to congratulate you on its realization.
From your ever sincere Friend,
G. M.
About the middle of the year 1814, Mr. Mortimer was joined by a coadjutor in the curacy of Wellington, of a kindred spirit with himself, and one with whom he seems to have taken sweet counsel, walking to the house and service of God as friends. This was the Rev. John King, already mentioned in the preface. In a letter to his sister, on the 3rd of June, 1814, is this short notice of the event just referred to:—“My dear friend King has joined us—he is beloved by all.” In another letter dated the 30th of the same month, he mentions his great attachment to Mr. King, their delightful opportunities of studying together, and that he esteems his coming under his roof as one of the greatest blessings ever vouchsafed. His intimacy with this gentleman was formed at the University; “being introduced to him,” as he mentions in a letter to the writer, “the very first evening of his coming to college, and we have,” he adds, “ever since remained in the closest bonds of union.”
TO THE REV. J. ARMSTRONG.
Wellington, Sept. 1, 1814.
My very dear Friend,
I feel thankful that a day of comparative leisure enables me to fulfil my engagement as to writing to you. It is the Lord’s goodness; and I cannot help considering it as one out of many thousand other instances in which prayer and simple reliance upon God tend most effectually to forward us in our concerns. I fear to trust my own unstable and treacherous heart, and therefore begged of God that he would graciously assist me; and, were I to do so constantly, how much better would it be for me! how many good plans and well concerted schemes, instead of being rendered abortive, would have been sped and prospered! But, trusting in the goodness of the plan, instead of the blessing of the Lord, and, at the same time, overlooking my own utter insufficiency, I have been manifestly left to learn lessons of dependence, through the unwelcome medium of failure and disappointment. But, after all the pains which a gracious God has been pleased to take with me, how slow I am to learn, how unwilling to become nothing, that God may become all in all. And yet this is the only way in which we can be either extensively or permanently blessed. We are dealt with as children; but on which of his children will a judiciously affectionate parent bestow the greatest honour? Not on the forward and self-sufficient. This is a spirit which he must chasten and subdue by patient and humiliating discipline. It is the child who is modest, distrustful, and unassuming, who is diffident of his abilities, and afraid of leaning to his own understanding, that will meet with the countenance and support of the wise and tender father. But to one of a contrary temper, such a mode of treatment would be ruinous, and, therefore, utterly inadmissible on the part of a parent whose affectionate heart was regulated by a sound and enlightened judgment. Ah, my dear friend, how often do we put it out of the power even of the tender Father of mercies to speed and prosper us! How much humiliating discipline are we incessantly courting by attempting to rob God of that glory which belongs to himself alone!
A few evenings ago I received a letter from my agent in town, giving me an account of some loss which I had lately sustained. I took my dear wife with me into my study, and falling on our knees, we prayed to the Lord to bring us into a ready acquiescence with his divine will, and to keep us from every the least feeling of dissatisfaction or expression of complaint. While engaged in prayer, those words, “God is love,” came with sweet power to my mind. I felt convinced that it was that divine attribute, and that alone, which had appointed the circumstance; that I could not have done so well without as with it; and, consequently, that I had far more reason for gratitude and praise than for anything else. Since that time how clearly have I seen that the love of God is the only proper key to unlock all God’s dispensations, and that when this is used it will open to us treasures of mercies and of blessings which would otherwise be for ever closed from our view. The Lord teach me for the future to profit by the instruction; and enable us to label, as it were, each passing trial with some such inscription as this, “From your loving Father.”
You, my dear friend, have had much to bear; and perhaps Satan has whispered at times into your mind those considerations which are likely to distress and to discourage you; but all is well; all originates in love; and, therefore, as Parnell so sweetly teaches, “Where you can’t unravel,” “you should learn to trust.”
I hope you feel confidence in these blessed results of your labours. What a word is that of our gracious Redeemer’s, and how worthy to be graven on the palms of every minister of his truth! “Said I not unto thee, if thou wouldst believe thou shouldst see the glory of God?” Surely it is nothing but our unbelief which hinders the Lord from laying bare his arm, and doing wondrous things in righteousness. In our parish and neighbourhood we have lately seen a far more extensive work both of conversion and progression than we have ever yet been indulged with; and I cannot but ascribe it to the many prayers which have been recently offered up in reference to this point. Many of us have felt great confidence that the Lord would revive his work among us; and he who has taught us daily to pray that his kingdom might come, has in no way disappointed our hope. We trust, however, that what we have hitherto seen are merely the drops before the shower.
Mary and King unite with me in kindest love to yourself and dear Mrs. A., and I remain,
Your ever sincere and truly affectionate Friend,
George Mortimer.
Mr. Mortimer, from his early connexion with the Methodists, imbibed many of their views, and followed out some of their practices. I cannot say that he succeeded in convincing me of the expediency of the plan described in the following letter, though possessed probably of some advantages; nor do I think that he continued always to approve of the same; but I think it right that he should speak for himself, and therefore I shall give several copies or extracts of his letters on the subject:—
TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Wellington, Salop. October 27, 1814.
Ah, my dear friend, what need have we all of being occasionally pulled down, stripped of our fancied excellencies, spoiled of our boasted props, and laid low in self-abasement and humility of soul at the feet of Jesus. And considering this our need, how kind is it in the Lord to take the painful pains with us which he does. He had much rather rejoice over us in unclouded prosperity; but our perverseness will not suffer him, and therefore he forces himself to grieve us. He constrains himself to cut off the dangerous limb—to amputate—when it would be injurious to spare.
We have two classes, after the manner of the Methodists; one consisting of men, and the other of women. The former led by Mr. Eyton, and the latter by myself. Out of the men’s class, Mr. E. has selected six young men, four of whom go out on a Monday evening, in turns, and expound to the poor in four cottages in different parts of the parish; and much good, I trust, has already been seen resulting from the plan. Mr. E. did not think of the classes till about a year and a half ago; but we all feel truly thankful to God that they were begun at last. You would have been struck at the effects which soon began to follow. A standard, if I may so speak, was by this means erected, and many, who in all probability would have remained halting and hesitating till the very end of their days, were induced, one after another, to flock around it, and I have been surprised at the degree of help which they have all received since they were thus united. And, in addition to their own personal benefit, they soon became instrumental of good to others. Our little society became a kind of nursery of expounders, exhorters, and assistants in prayer; and now, instead of a comparatively barren wilderness, we are rejoiced to behold, in many places, an incipient garden of the Lord.
Another benefit I would just beg leave to notice, and that refers to yourself. You will know much more of the state of your people, you will obtain a greater insight into their temptations, difficulties, and trials, and will be led to look around you for the means of obviating, or else helping them to bear them; and thus your manner of preaching will become far more experimental, and, consequently, far more useful. Without some such knowledge of our people as we thus obtain, our discourses, as Mr. Jerram used to say, will be about it, and about it, but seldom actually upon the mark. I have found a very material benefit myself in this way, and I would not have been without it for worlds. Now, my dear friend, what hinders but that you should enter upon such a class meeting? If you have only three or four, begin with them; meet with them weekly; begin with singing and prayer; relate to them the state of your own mind during the week, and then inquire into the state of their’s. Prayer may conclude. Mr. E. began, I think, with only four, and was some weeks before he got above two or three more; but now the men’s class is between thirty and forty, and the women’s not far short. Do not be afraid of the Methodistical appearance of the procedure. It is full of benefits, and I have no question but that if you can prevail upon yourself to adopt it, yourself and thousands more will have eternal reason to bless God for its institution. And, under such circumstances, should a name, or an appearance, cause you a moment’s hesitation? I trust it will not. * * *
I remain,
Your very sincere Friend
And Brother in the Lord,
George Mortimer.
The following letter is a beautiful manifestation of the greatest humility as to his own Christian experience; it was addressed to his sister:—
Wellington, Nov. 17th, 1814.
My dear Mary,
I have to thank my dear mother and yourself for the printed account, and the accompanying letter relative to the Lord’s gracious dealings with our dear departed brother: they have proved highly interesting, and, I trust, truly profitable to us. May our ears ever be disposed to listen to, and our hearts prepared to receive, instruction from all the gracious means which a God of infinite love and mercy is ever taking with us, in order to our good, and when it comes to our turn to drop the garments of mortality may it be with us, as it was with dear James, to be clothed with those of light. A tear may now and then involuntarily escape me when I advert to the difference between his envied situation and my own. He quite safe, I still surrounded with danger; still called to many a conflict with the Christian’s threefold enemy; still smarting from the wounds which my own unfaithfulness and presumption rendered expedient that I should receive. But I comfort myself with the recollection that the time will soon come when I hope to be crowned as victor, and that my continuance here below is with the merciful intention of giving me increased opportunity of getting some fresh jewels to my crown, and of getting those brightened which are already there. May the great Captain of my salvation so stand by me, that all these His gracious purposes may be abundantly answered! I bless God, I do feel an increasing desire to live to Him, and to the glory of his name; and there are times in which I feel that I have an increased power to do so. When I compare the general state of my religious experience with what it formerly was, I find that I am enabled to exercise more uniformly submission to his divine will, and to depend upon him more habitually for the supply of all my wants. I feel in many respects more crucified to the world, and the world seems to have become more so to me; so that I care but little about a variety of things which were at one time accustomed to engross much of my time and affections. In a word, I am led to conclude, that the life which I now live in the flesh is somewhat more a life of faith in the Son of God, a simple dependence and reliance upon Him, as my wisdom, righteousness, strength, and happiness, as my all-sufficient Saviour. But while I feel great cause for thankfulness in these respects, yet how far am I from so walking as to please my God! I was thinking over the state of my mind the other morning, and I felt deeply humbled before the Lord on account of it. My religion strikes me as being more superficial and circumstantial, than deep, inward, and spiritual. I possess a measure of union with God, but very little communion with Him. I am engaged in His works, and doing His will in the main, but I hold slight and frequently interrupted converse with Him. But how can such a walk be pleasing unto God? But, perhaps, you will not be able to enter into my feelings—as connected with this my defect in religious experience—unless I have recourse to some familiar illustration. An individual may be walking by my side, towards the place which I would have him proceed to, and in the way in which I would have him walk; but should he walk for miles and hours together, in total silence, never, during these intervals, drop a word expressive of his views and feelings, never communicate to me the least thing which is passing in his mind; or should he manifest a similar indifference concerning my communications to him, should he never listen to my voice, or suffer himself to be so amused with the surrounding prospect, or the incidents of the journey, as to have no ear for me, what opinion should I form of such an individual? Would he be walking so as to please me? The application is easy—we may be walking in God’s commands towards the place he would have us direct our face, and in those paths which he has been pleased to appoint; but if we do not hold converse with him, if we are backward to tell him what is passing in our minds, or if we have no ear to listen to his kind communications, suffering ourselves to be previously engaged with the things by which we are surrounded, how little can such a walk be gratifying to the blessed God! Now, my dear Mary, here is my defect; I do not cultivate, as I ought, that loving, gracious intercourse with my loving Redeemer which it is my privilege to enjoy: not only many moments, but, sometimes, even hours, pass without anything like direct communion with him. Oh, when shall I be able to adopt the language—the beautiful expressive language—of one of Mr. Wesley’s hymns—
“Far above all earthly things,
While yet my hands are here employed;
Sees my soul the King of kings,
And freely talks with God.”
Let us help one another, my dear sister, in this important matter by our mutual and fervent prayers.
Good Archbishop Leighton, alluding to the effects of intercourse kept up on the part of ministers with the blessed God, has happily expressed himself:—“They that converse most with the King, and are inward with him, know most of the affairs of state, and even the secrets of them, which are hid from others. And, certainly, those of God’s messengers who are oftenest with Himself, cannot but understand their business best, and know most of His meaning, and the affairs of His kingdom.” What a luminous proof did this most excellent man afford in his conduct of the truth of his own assertion, and what need have we, who are the ministers and stewards of the same mysteries, to follow him as he also followed Christ!
TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Wellington, Salop. Dec. 29, 1814.
My dear Friend,
* * * * * * *
In my last I mentioned to you the illness and expected removal of my youngest brother, James. He has since been called to his rest, and I am truly thankful to be enabled to state that his death was attended with circumstances highly satisfactory, especially when it is remembered that he was not in any way a communicative lad, but, on the contrary, very silent and reserved. Well! he is gone—gone, I trust, to eternal glory. The Lord, in his rich mercy, prepare us all to follow him! He was the youngest among us, and the least likely to be first called. I hope that we have most of us been induced by the circumstance to watch and to be sober; “so to number our days as to apply our hearts unto wisdom.” As far as regards myself, I think I may say that the lesson has been very salutary. I have been led to consider myself as the next which shall be called, and, of course, eternal and invisible things have appeared exceedingly near. I thank God that death has no sting to me. Its sting is sin, and that my gracious Redeemer has mercifully removed. The anticipation, therefore, far from being a means of uneasiness, is matter of entire and sober satisfaction; not that I have any cause for disquietude here below—not that I have any restlessness of desire arising from a querulous or pettish feeling of discontent. No, my dear friend, God has been, and still continues to be, abundant in mercy and truth. But still these things are not my God—this world is not my home. I seem to myself like a school-boy very agreeably placed at school—fond of his master, pleased with his companions, and interested by his studies, he has every sober ground for satisfaction, and, as such, does not pettishly wish to be gone—does not for a moment think of leaving till his vacation shall arrive: but still the thoughts of home delight him, and when the summer which calls him there arrives, he most cheerfully complies—his kind master, his pleasing companions—his engaging studies—all are most gladly left; for these are not his home. Ah, my dear friend, how lightly should we all sit to the things beneath, to those which are nearest and dearest, did we but consider heaven more as our own place—as our heavenly Father’s house!
I often wish, my dear friend, that the bounds of our habitation were so fixed that we might not only correspond with, but face to face converse with, each other. This privilege I now enjoy with my friend King, who for nearly a year has been on the same spot, and even in the same house. But I still feel my heart longing after my absent friend. This indeed may originate in some latent feeling of ingratitude and discontent, which leads me to overlook the mercy vouchsafed, and to long for that denied. And yet I am not conscious that this is altogether the case: hardly a day elapses in which I do not thank God for the blessing granted me, through the medium of my present friend. He is a most choice and valuable young man—one of ten thousand. And yet the question frequently arises in my mind, why did I ever know—why did I feel so exceedingly attached to my absent friend, if it were not the intention of a gracious and indulgent God to give him to me in like manner? But the ways of the Lord are in the great deep: his footsteps are not known; and yet gracious, though unknown, I would therefore be thankful that I have a dear—dear—very dear friend, to whom I can write, and for whom I can pray, if I can do no more; and my mind is solaced and comforted with the hope that a day is coming in which we shall join to part no more; that glorious inheritance is at hand where some adjacent mansion shall be assigned us, or where distance shall prove no impediment or barrier to our intercourse. May our loving Saviour, who is “the way, the truth, and the life,” guide us and ours all safe to this glorious kingdom!
I remain,
Your very affectionate Friend and old Collegian,
“Mort.”
Another of his friends, the Rev. J. C., the present rector of a parish in Cheshire, may be here introduced—a friend whom he esteemed very highly. This gentleman, in the former years of his life, was engaged in business, and his friend was very desirous of detaching his mind from this pursuit, and of leading him to turn his attention to the sacred office. In one of his early letters pressing this change upon his consideration, he makes the following pertinent remark:—
“It is not easy, when fixed by circumstances, and extensively surrounded by our secular concerns, to follow the example of Matthew, and immediately to arise. The din of business and the clamour of dear friends drown the soft intimations of our passing Lord, and, questioning the reality of his call, we find it difficult to leave all behind.”
In the following extract of a letter to the Rev. J. Armstrong, Mr. Mortimer states what he conceived to be the qualifications of a minister of the word in a foreign or uncultivated soil; and also his views of Arminianism. His remarks on the latter subject were addressed to the editor, to whom, in a former letter, he had given some account of a plan which he and some of his friends had devised of raising a fund for the purchase of livings, and had given to the designation of the object an Arminian character. The editor, who has often been considered as a Calvinist, wrote to his friend to say he objected to the title of his projected association; adding, that, in the event of his returning home invalided, or from other causes, he could expect to derive no benefit from his friend’s patronage:—
Wellington, Salop. Feb. 25th, 1815.
My dear Friend,
** * * * * * *
Were I required to point out those qualifications which should distinguish the minister of the word in a foreign or uncultivated soil, I should not specify those qualities which are too exclusively dwelt upon by many. I should not inquire into the fervour of his spirit, the commanding or winning nature of his aspect and address, the robustness of his frame—“his iron sinews, and his bones of brass;”—all these things are good auxiliaries, but they are not essentials. The grand requisite seems to be this, a quiet steady application to present duty, combined with a peaceful and unbroken reliance upon the Lord; for if an individual be possessed of a spirit and temper which this conduct supposes, he must succeed. Hosts of opposing difficulties will, one after another, fall before him like the petrified band who came to seize the person of our Lord. All his patient labours, the produce of his faith, shall bear the approving seal of God—all that he doeth shall prosper. But, if present duty be neglected, or supinely, or uninterestingly conducted—if his reliance and confidence on God be broken—if his oppressed spirit sink under every wave of discouragement which for the trial of his faith is permitted to pass over him—under such circumstances, prosperity is impossible; for even our gracious and our willing Lord can in no wise help us. From these considerations, I feel truly thankful that your spirit faints not, that your confidence in God still remains, and that you still apply yourself to your arduous work. This Moravian (I should rather have said this Christlike) spirit will, with the superadded blessing of the Lord, bring to you and your dear flock a train of mercies far exceeding the most sanguine of your expectations. “Be strong, therefore, and of a good courage; fear not, neither be dismayed; and then the Lord thy God will be with thee whithersoever thou goest.” He will “Cover thy head in the day of battle; he will take hold of shield and buckler; he will fight for thee, and thou shalt hold thy peace.” But while I am thus alluding to your ministerial duties, I would again recommend to you what I took the liberty of urging upon you somewhat at large in a former letter. I allude to class meetings. Whatever you do, my dear Armstrong, do not omit these. I have seen already, and daily continue to see, advantages the most unequivocal resulting from them; and am convinced that no one endued either with a spiritual mind, or with a desire after it, would make an experiment of their efficacy without most convincingly perceiving it. In your own case, I have no question but that the adoption of the plan I am recommending, would become quite an era to you in spiritual prosperity, both as a church and as a private individual—an epocha upon which you would ever look back with the most unqualified delight.
You seem prepared, my good friend, to receive from me somewhat of an Arminian trimming for the heretical alteration which you have ventured to propose as connected with our “Living and Perpetual Advowson Plan.” It happens, however, that I feel no such disposition at present; not that I am less anxious than before for the maintenance of sound doctrine within the walls of our churches, but because I have a good hope that in your case a caution upon these points is almost unnecessary. I trust that, notwithstanding the force of certain prejudices imbibed in the early part of your Christian life, the leaven of real unadulterated truth has been introduced into your mind, and that a time will come in which it will predominate to the leavening of the whole lump. I should be glad to find that this was the case even now; for, though the circumstances in which you are placed at present forbid the introduction of any extensive evil, yet still, I fear that some degree of evil will almost unavoidably find an entrance. For every portion of error has its corresponding portion of evil. Truth, simple, unmixed truth, is that which sanctifies, and truth alone. But as to endeavouring to lead you through all the mazes of controversy and debate to this desirable end, I have not the least intention, nor even desire. I had rather leave you in the hands of God, by prayer, begging that He, the God of Truth and the Father of Lights would, in his mercy, condescend to instruct you himself, and, guided by him, you will then be led into all truth. As to the alteration you propose, we are perfectly of your mind, that the word “Arminian” had better be omitted, and as such intend to drop it. For, though we should naturally be led to make choice of individuals the most accordant with our own views, yet neither liberality nor candour would teach us to exclude others. Besides, all the good purposes arising from the insertion of the term may certainly be answered without. It will be well known in whose hands the conduct of the affair is vested; this of itself will show the bias of our mind, and this is all we wish. Exclusion upon the general scale is certainly no part of our intention; we are thankful, therefore, for your friendly hint.
* * * * * * * *
We all unite in kindest love to you and yours, and I remain,
Your truly affectionate Friend and Brother,
G. Mortimer.
TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Wellington, Salop. May 1st, 1815.
My dear Friend,
Your last letter gave me an account of dear Mrs. A.’s indisposition. She has been much on my mind of late. I feared lest her protracted illness should be the forerunner of something worse; and my mind shrunk from the idea of the painful circumstances in which yourself would be placed, should her removal be the ultimate issue. But I have left the whole in the hands of our wise and loving God, and I have no doubt but that all will be well. To be a stranger in a strange land, oppressed with cares and surrounded with more than ordinary difficulties, and at the same time reft of his bosom friend, the sharer of his troubles, and the assuager of his griefs; this is a trial from which the mind revolts. But still, “God is faithful, who will not suffer us to be tempted above that we are able.” He will proportion our supports to our trials, and with Christ’s strengthening us we can not only do, but bear all things; and, therefore, all that we have to do is to shut our eye, and to yield our hand, and to suffer our kind Lord to lead us whithersoever he shall please. We have nothing to do with anticipation respecting the future. Grace is indeed promised to us, not however in advance—not as a stock which we may possess beforehand, but as we need it. “As thy day, thy strength shall be.” I have found this consideration a great source of comfort to my own mind when I have been recoiling at the painful possibilities of the morrow; for, though I could not bear this and the other trial to-day with my present strength, yet to-morrow’s strength may and will be sufficient for me, provided I do but look for it. Were a martyr’s trials in reserve for me, a martyr’s grace would also be prepared for me.
With regard to myself all at present is peaceful in the extreme; my mind calmly reposing on the God of all my mercies in tranquil dependence. My wife, my children, my servants, my property, all so suitable, so calculated to administer to my comfort, and to leave me no reasonable earthly wish unfulfilled. All, my dear friend, is so well; all so mercifully regulated, that I sometimes look around me with surprise, and am almost led to suspect lest the treacherous calm should be merely the forerunner of some tremendous storm. But the consideration does not alarm me; for “God is love.”
From your truly affectionate
and ever sincere Friend,
George Mortimer.
In the month of May, 1815, he was invited to Madeley by many of the parishioners, a deputation from whom waited upon the rector, the Rev. H. Burton, to request he might be appointed curate; and, accordingly, he removed thither on the 8th of the ensuing month. The following letter addressed to the editor refers to the event, and enters somewhat into the particulars of it:—
Madeley, near Shiffnal, Salop.
June 15th, 1815.
My dear Friend,
Few things were further from my thoughts, when I last wrote to you, than that I should now be addressing a letter to you from the above-mentioned place; but, “the Lord’s ways are not our ways, nor his thoughts our thoughts;” we may contrive, but he controls. I had imagined that my lot was, for some time to come, assigned to me among my dear people at Wellington, and that in my late house of mercies, surrounded by the family of my excellent vicar, and his valuable assistant, I should continue to flourish and grow like a tree planted by rivers of waters. But the Lord has seen fit to transplant me; of its being his work I feel fully assured; and, therefore, I can now expect my comforts and blessings in a different way and through other channels. Thus, goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life, and will still follow me. I do, indeed, quite wonder at the change; it seems more like a dream than otherwise, that I should be fixed in this place and parish, of which I had so often read, and which has always been associated in my mind with that wonderful and astonishing man of God, the late venerable Mr. De la Flèchere. But you will, perhaps, wish to know the steps which led me hither. Mr. Walters, the late curate (or rather the present, for he does not leave till next Tuesday) having heard of a situation which seemed, in many respects, more congenial to his views than that of Madeley, gave notice of its being his intention to leave, in the church on Sunday after divine service. The people were much surprised at the communication; but since the choice of their minister has usually been left to themselves, they immediately began to look around them; and, having fixed upon me, they begged of Mr. Eyton, that he would give me up, and of myself, that I would undertake the cure of the place. Had I been disposed to consult merely with flesh and blood, Madeley would have been the last place to which I should have consented to have gone; but, as dear Mrs. Fletcher and the people of all descriptions seemed desirous of my coming among them, I thought it would be wrong to resist the order of God, and, as such, professed a willingness to let them do anything with me which they should please. A deputation was accordingly sent to Mr. Burton, the vicar, who resides on another living a few miles off, requesting him to appoint me. He received them, in the first instance, with a degree of coolness which led them to conclude that there was but little hope. He did not even tell them that he would consider the application, but put them off with mentioning another person who, he thought, would suit him. Under such circumstances, prayer seemed the only resort, and to the prayers of the church I believe I have been given, and to these alone. In about ten days after the first application, I heard through the medium of a relation of his, that he had some intentions of appointing me, and as such I waited upon him, and was received both by himself and his wife with a degree of cordiality and attention which quite surprised me. We soon came to terms, and I have since heard, from various sources, that he is not only well disposed towards me, but quite congratulates himself upon my having undertaken his cure. Such wonderful revolutions, both in mind and in circumstances, is the Lord able to effect. All things being thus far adjusted, I began to look out for a situation for myself, and for a suitable tenant for the house I was about to leave, and in both respects have I been led most remarkably to see the hand of God. The house I now occupy has been desired by many, as it is the only one in the place at all suitable for a person in my circumstances; but a disagreement among the persons who had to let it, prevented everything like an amicable prospect, and it has been strangely left in the midst of all for me. How kind and how condescending is the care of God! How does it reach even to the minutest particulars, and much more to the commodiously and pleasantly assigning the bounds of our habitation. Our removal also has been attended with blessings. Scarcely anything, in the shape of injury, has hitherto been perceived, and what trivial matters have been noticed have only tended to increase our gratitude, by shewing us what might have been, had not God given his charge as connected with them. You will smile, perhaps, at these kind of enumerations; but I feel a pleasure in adverting to them myself, and, therefore, I must beg your indulgence. “A special and minute providence is an object of my firm belief, as well as a source of my calmest and most extensive joys. I love to dwell on such a truth as this, ‘The very hairs of your head are all numbered.’”
You have heard, perhaps, of the Honourable Mr. Ryder having been made Dean of Wells, and of his most decided and open exhibition of piety in his exalted situation. About a month ago he was made Bishop of Gloucester, an event which has filled the hearts of the pious in our Establishment with inexpressible gratitude. It may, indeed, be said by us on such an occasion, “The Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad,” and to his name would we ascribe the praise. A lady of my acquaintance happened, at the time when his appointment was known, to be dining in a party at which Mr. Wilberforce was present, and she states, that two or three times he could not help saying in the most animated manner, “I am afraid, I am too glad at it, but it is such a great thing.”
I remain,
Your ever affectionate Friend,
Geo. Mortimer.
Mr. Mortimer’s post at Madeley was, upon his entrance on the duties of it, one beset with great difficulties; but by the blessing of God upon his Christian spirit and conduct he overcame them all. This will be seen from the following extracts of three letters, the first and third directed to his sister, and the second to his friend abroad.
After alluding to the difficulties referred to, he says, August, 1815:—
“I feel a power to stand still and see the salvation of God; my chief attention is directed, not to outward circumstances, but to my own spirit. I am desirous of cultivating kindness and affection, and am convinced that so long as nothing is cherished by me contrary to love, all will eventually be well. We have had a most gratifying visit from Mr. and Mrs. Butterworth, and feel truly thankful for the kind providence which brought them among us. What a stimulus to increased activity for God and our fellow-creatures does the animating example of such a character as Mr. B. afford. Such sobriety of mind, such solidity of judgment, such earnestness of endeavour: I could not help applying to him the words of my favourite Herbert,
‘Let thy mind still be bent, still plotting where,
And when, and how, the business may be done.’“Mrs. Fletcher still continues to speak once a week to her people and also to meet her class; her breathing is much affected, and she continues to break very fast. She spoke on the Monday evening, while Mr. and Mrs. B. were here, for the last time on the weekdays. The assemblage was highly gratifying. After we came home, we reckoned upwards of fifty who had come from Wellington to hear her. Such honour has this distinguished saint of God.”
Madeley, near Shiffnal, Salop. Sept. 1st, 1815.
Since I last wrote to you I have had to encounter many difficulties in my parish, but I am thankful to state that they have now nearly subsided. You must understand that my parish abounds with Methodists, or at least that the greater part of the serious people are such, and of course the church, though generally attended by them once a day, is looked upon as a mere secondary concern. Now though I respect the Methodists, so long as they keep to their own place, and would gladly give to them, under such circumstances, the right hand of fellowship, yet when they leave their proper place and wish to occupy that post of pre-eminence which the Lord has given to the church, then I feel it to be my duty to step forward and to show them where they ought to remain. My predecessors here, namely, Mr. Fletcher, Melville Horne, and Mr. Walters, all of them preached at regular times in the Methodist chapels. When I came here they solicited me, and Mrs. Fletcher among others was exceedingly urgent. I felt it my duty, however, most stoutly to refuse. This, as you may suppose, gave great offence, and they imagined that instead of a friend and encourager, they had most strangely stumbled upon a most determined enemy. Time, however, has shown them that they misjudged me, and that I can be friendly and yet not go all the lengths which they, through a regard to precedents, had most unaccountably expected; and now, the sober-minded come to church as usual, and everything seems to be proceeding in a spirit of love and of kindness. It is true, that some of the more violent have seceded, but this is no more than I might reasonably have expected, and, to speak the truth, no more than what I should have wished; for I could never have felt at home, with individuals of this description. They have always been troublesome characters, and had they remained, they would doubtless have been troublesome to me. While the mouths of many were opened loudly against me, I one day met with an old Methodist of the place, who was a convert of dear Mr. Fletcher’s. In the course of conversation, I said to him, “Well Mr. P., do you think that I have been a sinner above all others, in not preaching in your chapels?” “Why, sir,” said he, “to speak truth, I must say that I think no such thing, and I have always said, that as you are our minister you ought to know your own business a great deal better than we do, and therefore that we have nothing to do but to be quiet.” I was much struck at the time with his remark, and I believe, now, that the generality think with him. My mind was at first much pained, but I endeavoured to maintain through the whole a loving demeanour and a praying spirit. I said little, took care to avoid all exaggeration, and yet, at the same time, kept steadily to my point. And God has stood by me and brought me through in a way that I could hardly have supposed. To his name be all the praise.
You will be pleased to hear that one of my younger brothers, Thomas, has recently been truly converted to God, and wishes to enter into the church. My father most cordially enters into his views, and has been urgent upon me to receive him into my house, by way of preparation for college. This I at length consented to do. And though it is somewhat of trouble to me to do my duty towards him, in point of attention—for he is quite a studious young man—yet I feel that his being with us is quite in the Lord’s order, and am truly thankful for that grace which has changed him, and that providence which has directed his steps among us. From a letter which I saw from a Methodist preacher, who attended the conference last month, I understand that no less than thirteen preachers in their connexion have left them with the intention of preparing for orders. These are the men we want in our churches! What does our excellent establishment want, but Arminian preachers and Methodist discipline! But I must forbear lest I get a second trimming. Leaving joking however, aside, I felt truly thankful to hear of this, and I hope many will follow their good example. The Church wants them, and the Methodists can well spare them.
Madeley, Sept. 26th, 1815.
You will be pleased to find that matters are proceeding with quietness and comfort in my parish. For some weeks past I have not heard the least syllable of complaint relative to my first obnoxious proceedings. The church is increasingly attended, and the spirit of God seems among us in the application of the word. I feel now at length thoroughly convinced that my coming here was of God. All I fear is lest my bodily strength should not be quite equal to my duty. My Sunday work is certainly fatiguing.
TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Madeley, near Shiffnal, Salop. Oct. 26th, 1815.
My dear Armstrong,
* * * * * * * *
Since I last wrote to you I have seen it my duty to give up myself wholly to the work of the Lord. I am ashamed to confess to you, that the former years of my ministry have been very partially devoted to his service. I have too frequently picked and chosen among my duties, avoided too many which seemed to promise humiliation and mortification, and entered upon others only so far as they left me an opportunity of cultivating and enjoying other more favourite pursuits. Oh, my dear friend, what a cage of unclean birds is the polluted heart of man, and how many corners of it still remain impure, even after it has been for the most part cleansed. How much selfishness, (latent, indeed, or glossed over with some speciousness of appearance,) still keeps lurking behind. The Lord, however, has very mercifully been leading me to part first with one favourite pursuit and then with another, till at last I seem to have but one business, and that is, to do the will of him who has called me to the ministry. That I perform this business in such a way as daily humbles me, and fills me with confusion of face, I need scarcely tell you; for you have long known the pride and the naughtiness of my heart, and, though I keep fighting with my spiritual enemies, and am determined by the grace of God, neither to find for them any apology, nor to give them any quarter, yet I am but an unskilful combatant, and fall under a severe wound instead of habitually conquering through him who hath loved me. As to my parish, I am very thankful to be able to state that matters are going on very comfortably. The spirit of dissent seems to be weekly abating, and all seems harmony and love. Two of the principal men among us have not only given the most cordial and unexpected support, but have discovered a degree of seriousness under the word, and a willingness to converse about it, when not actually hearing it, as encourages me to hope, that they are inquirers after the things which make for their peace. I was much struck yesterday with the very friendly conduct of a Mr. A., one of the masters of a considerable coal and iron work in the neighbourhood. I had been inquiring about a place where I might go near the Iron Bridge, one of the most populous places in the parish, to expound the Scriptures and thus prepare them, by means of this stepping stone, for an attendance upon the church, and for their meeting in one of our little classes. I soon heard of a room over the market place, which was employed as a day school, nicely accommodated with benches, and capable of holding between two and three hundred people; I was told it belonged to Mr. A., but was let by him to the person who now held it, upon the express condition, that it should never be used for any religious purpose. An application under such circumstances seemed somewhat uncertain, but when I waited upon him, he expressed not only his willingness, but his great satisfaction in having it so employed, and told me, moreover, that he would give immediate orders to his foreman to see that everything by way of whitewashing, and so on, should be done, so as to make it as comfortable as might be. I don’t know how it is, but I feel my heart peculiarly united with this amiable man. One night, after spending two or three hours in his company, I felt just the same sensation of indescribable union which I felt towards yourself the first day I knew you. O how should I rejoice to be made serviceable to his soul, and to meet him a saved character in the day of the Lord Jesus. My Iron Bridge meeting I begin to morrow evening. I feel it much upon my mind, and should be greatly obliged by your praying for a particular blessing as connected with it. The population there and within a short distance extends to some thousands. * * * *
With our kind and united regards to Mrs. A. and yourself,
Believe me, my dear Friend,
Yours, most affectionately,
G. Mortimer.
TO HIS SISTER.
Madeley, Nov. 20th, 1815.
My dear Mary,
Mrs. D. Whitmore has offered to enclose a letter for me to yourself in her frank. I have availed myself of the opportunity thus afforded me, and have the comfort of reflecting that for once, at least, my poor scrawl will not cost more than its worth.
Mrs. D. and Miss Whitmore have lately been spending a few days with us, and they have left us with a pleasing and powerful conviction of the blessedness resulting from the society of those who live near to God. We felt, in the first instance, somewhat of reluctance in inviting them; but, being persuaded that the law of love required that we should seek our pleasure in the endeavour to communicate pleasure to others, we thought it right to break through our cozy habits of retirement, and to welcome them under our roof. I need not tell you that we have been abundantly repaid. Christian intercourse, when sought and conducted on Christian principles, must be productive of good, and I would gratefully adore the goodness of the Lord for all the refreshment of spirit, and the improvement of mind, which have been conveyed to me through them as channels. How clearly, my dear Mary, would the Lord be teaching us, provided that we would learn of him that the faithful taking up of the cross, even in those matters which appear but trivial and insignificant, is the most effectual way of procuring present peace and future blessedness. In short, that the spirit of surrender is the one thing needful, the grand preparative for happiness and holiness here, and for eternal glory hereafter. I do not know how you feel on this point; but I must, with humiliation, confess to you, that this yoke of Christ does not sit so gracefully and so easily upon me as it ought. I would, however, be thankful that I am endeavouring to bear it. I am comforted with the thought, and I may say with the experience, that the effort to accommodate it to my stubborn neck is the most effectual way of making it natural and easy. I have been much helped to this endeavour by a persuasion that the bearing of the cross is not the end, but the way; that humiliations, mortifications, trials, and so on, are only so many means which God is obliged to have recourse to in order to communicate blessings; that he does not wish to harass, pain, and mortify us, but to promote our comfort, and that the moment we are ready to take up the cross, and begin to submit to the only terms on which it is safe in God to bless us, then he cheerfully avails himself of the opportunity of conveying to us, not the pain which we anticipated, but some gracious token of his love. “For the Lord taketh pleasure in the prosperity of his servants.” His name, His nature, is love. In my last, I think, I stated to you that matters were going on pretty comfortably in my parish. I did not, however, enlarge, lest I should be conveying to you a more favourable idea than contingent circumstances would authorize. I now feel that gratitude towards God ought to lead me to speak to his praise. Many persons in the place have, to say the least, been very favourably impressed, both among the higher, as well as the lower orders, and show a considerable change in the whole of their demeanour. The congregation in the church, both morning and evening, continues to increase; and the expositions, both in the town and the outskirts of the parish, are fully attended. If there is one thing more than another which seems to encourage me, it is that of witnessing on all occasions, that the Lord has graciously given to me what I have all along been led more particularly to pray for—the heart and affections of my dear people. They not only tolerate—they evidently love me. I seem to myself the same poor blundering stutterer as ever, and yet they meet me with pleasure, and go from my ministrations with profit. The Lord make and keep me humble and thankful! I sometimes think that all this is too good to last, that the peaceful calm is but the harbinger of the treacherous storm; I feel, however, that this is no necessary conclusion. Could humility and gratitude be the predominating feeling of our mind, we then might be safely trusted with success. But this is the grand difficulty—pride and self-congratulation are ever apt to insinuate themselves into our minds, and then adversity is necessary. “It is difficult,” as the pious Leighton observes, “to carry a full cup even.” Pray for me, my dear sister, that all the will of the Lord may be done in me, and by me, and that no evils on my part may put any impediment to the free course and glorification of God’s blessed word.
The following letter to his friend, Mr., now the Rev. John Cooper, will show how much Mr. Mortimer was in advance of the time in which he wrote on the subject of lay-agency—a kind of help which, at that time, was considered of very questionable propriety; but which has now come to be admitted very generally, as expedient to meet the pressing wants of a rapidly increasing population. These wants, indeed, the editor believes can never be effectually supplied by any means less than an extensive augmentation of the number of clerical labourers. To supply these means, he regrets much that the Lord Primate, together with the Episcopal Bench, should not see it to be their duty to admit to deacon’s orders upon a lower standard of literary attainments than is now required; keeping persons so ordained, if it be thought good, in that order, until they possess the usual portion of literary and theological knowledge, as well as the ordinary title for priest’s orders. On this subject also, as will be seen from the same letter, Mr. Mortimer appears to have been equally in advance of his brethren; for, at that time, the notion of such an augmentation of the number of the clergy was little thought of, and would have been in most quarters, as it is still in many, very generally condemned. His opinion is, I think, a just one—viz. that the stability and true respectability of the church is more effectually promoted by sound piety, than by a certain portion of Latin and Greek. “The union of sound learning with genuine piety, is what every one must admire and desire in a Christian pastor; but a man may do immense good with nothing more than an unlearned familiarity with the Scriptures, with sound practical sense and activity, taking part in all the business of the parish, and devoting himself to intercourse with men rather than with books. I honour such men in the highest degree, and think that they are among the most valuable ministers that the church possesses.” [69] In the meantime, however, until the clergy shall hear some proportion to the population, we must have recourse to lay-assistants to supply, in some small measure, the much to be deplored deficiency. “For myself, I will openly declare, that I see not how we can dare for any of those small professional objections, which may be urged, if they are sought for, against every comprehensive scheme of good, to refuse such aid in this our great necessity. It might be well enough for men, sitting calmly in their closets, and forgetting all these mighty issues, to cavil and to speculate, to raise difficulties as to the exact mission of the lay-reader, and to wish (as which of us does not wish?) that bands of zealous, well-timed, devoted deacons ministered instead among these crowds; but it will not do for us, my reverend brethren, who know that souls are thus perishing around us, to bring upon ourselves the guilt of their blood; to let them be unwarned, and drag us with them into their destruction, because, through blinding prejudice, or the widely comprehensive sin of omission, we have, for a whole generation, shut out of a parish the light which might have streamed into it.” [70]
Madeley, Dec. 4th, 1815.
My dear Friend,
On the evening previous to my receiving your very kind and truly acceptable letter, I had been speaking in the town from those words of our Lord, “Pray ye, therefore, the Lord of the harvest, that he would send [or rather thrust] forth labourers into his harvest;” and we all seemed to find it a profitable season, especially when, in conclusion, we were praying that this important blessing might be realized. When your kind favour arrived, I saw more than ever, the propriety of beseeching God to “thrust” them out; for surely nothing but main force can compel desirable labourers. Others come at a moment’s bidding—no useful employments detain them—no endeared relatives or friends hang about them, conscientiously and feelingly pressing their continuance among them. But when a prepared labourer, one whom “the Lord of the harvest” has previously been fitting for his ministerial work; when such a one is fixed on, none but the Lord himself can bring him out. I have, therefore, only one resource, and that is prayer; this, however, I am privileged to use, and this I must still hope will eventually prevail. I assure you it would prove a source of no small joy to myself to welcome you among us for your initiatory work; for, independent of the personal gratification and profit which I must promise myself, your help in various ways would be exceedingly acceptable to the people. The most populous parts of the parish greatly want help, and most gladly avail themselves of the little which I and T— are able to give them. At present I feel as though I could do but little more: I have, indeed, one leisure evening during the week; but even this they have been asking from me, and I fear to deny them. My good friend need not, therefore, be afraid of eating the bread of idleness, by secluding himself for a short season among us; and with regard to his future employment, a single month’s actual residence in a place tolerably populous will fully convince him how much work of the highest importance will call for his daily and even hourly attention. And are there not hundreds of places of this description opening to our wishes? “Truly the harvest is plenteous,” but with pain I must still add, that “the labourers are few.”
I felt very thankful to hear of the determination of your friend B—, relative to entering into orders, and of the kind and judicious conduct of the bishop—a conduct, however, but seldom adopted. The determination of many on the bench to admit those only into orders who have previously been at college, is, indeed, calculated to secure a certain portion of Latin and Greek in the Establishment; but, at the same time, to exclude from it, in many instances, that which it more needs and which would more effectually conduce to its stability and true respectability; I mean, vital, genuine piety. What a mercy it is, however, that their determination has been in so many cases made void, and that there is not an instance to be found in which a pious young man has eventually been excluded. I think, I hinted to you, when you kindly visited us in the summer, that I am too sensible of the dismal forebodings of kind friends to let slip an opportunity of putting you again in remembrance. But, my dear friend, with all our zeal for the progress of the Lord’s work around us, we must not forget its progress within us. I know not how you may feel, but, with regard to myself, I am constrained to acknowledge, that while I am endeavouring to mind the vineyards of others, I too frequently neglect my own. I get more and more of the habit of thinking spiritually—speaking spiritually—and even acting spiritually; but there seems in my own experience a great deficiency in point of feeling. Spiritual things are not brought home to my own mind by an immediate and constant self-application. I seem like a spiritual purveyor who is convinced that nothing but spirituality will do, and, therefore, my constant endeavour is to convey, and to exhibit it. But still, I fear, at times, lest all this is more in reference to others than to myself. I hope, however, that the act of conveying and exhibiting it, is not altogether unattended with good to myself; for the channel imbibes some of the water which passes through it; and, as Leighton observes, “The boxes in which our perfumes are kept for garments and other uses, are themselves perfumed by keeping them.”
* * * * * * * *
What a world of instruction is conveyed to us in that beautiful passage of the prophet, “In returning and in rest ye shall be saved!” Now when I fail, or when I wander, too often, instead of quietly returning and resuming my endeavours, I am apt to sink into myself, and be discouraged. In short, I seem rather to brood over my failures than to get pardon for them, and to set about their amendment. My paper tells me that I cannot enlarge; I must, therefore, conclude, with the assurance that the best wishes of Mrs. M. and myself continue to attend yourself and all your circle.
I remain,
Your truly affectionate and sincere Friend,
George Mortimer.
TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Madeley, Dec. 29th, 1815.
My dear Armstrong,
* * * * * * * *
On the 9th instant, dear Mrs. Fletcher was removed from the church militant to the church triumphant, from a sorrowing church below to a glorious one above. The last few months of her life were attended with much pain, but how sweetly did the Christian beam through all! In her former years she seems to have been called more particularly to glorify God by an unusual degree of activity and usefulness. Latterly, she has been called to bear and suffer; but all in the spirit of her Divine Master. O my dear friend, how gladly would I join her glorified spirit by making my escape from a world of sin and sorrow! Do not, however, mistake me; I do, indeed, love home, and strange would it be were it otherwise, but still I would not run away to get there. I see that there is much for me still, both to do and to suffer; and as such, rather than pettishly desiring to depart, I would calmly and quietly wish to wait—wait till all my discipline is over, till I am better fitted and prepared for my inheritance among the saints in light.
* * * *
While my Mary’s letter lies before me, I feel disposed to copy another part of it, relative to the management of school children. “I was much pleased a few weeks since at the national school. Dr. Bell’s arrangements are well made, and the mistress he has appointed is an uncommonly clever woman, just fit for that situation, and apparently for none else. I asked her how she managed with the children when any of them used improper language, having myself been much troubled with this at our Shoreditch school? She said such a case rarely occurred, but when it did, she found it better to convince the understanding of the evil, than merely to correct for the individual fault; and as she was particular in explaining the catechism, commandments, &c., she had in general little trouble in bringing such faults home. For example, she said, ‘A few days since, about twenty of the girls came to me, and said, “O Governess! little Chambers has said a very wicked word.” I lifted up my hands, and said, “Blessed are the peace makers.” If twenty of you had come to tell me of a good deed, I would gladly have listened, but go away and be ashamed at being so pleased to publish the faults of a school-fellow. I thought it right, however, not to let it go unnoticed; and therefore called to me privately the monitor of the class. She said, “Indeed, governess, it was a very naughty word, it was O God.” I said, “Very well, that is enough.” I then went round to the different classes, who were saying the catechism; after a while I came to this class, and after having asked several children the commandments, I said (pointing the fore finger,) “Little Chambers, do you say the third.” She immediately burst into tears, and said, “O Governess! I did say a naughty word, but I will never do so again, if you will forgive me this once.”’ This is not according to the plan of correction generally pursued at schools, but it appears to me much more judicious and more likely to produce lasting benefit.”
* * * * * * * *
My Mary joins me in kindest and most Christian regards to yourself and dear Mrs. A., and in love to all your family, and I remain,
Yours ever affectionately,
G. Mortimer.
TO HIS SISTER.
Madeley, Jan. 26th, 1816.
My dear Mary,
I have been much struck of late with the forcible manner in which the providence of God has been co-operating with his word in the endeavour to teach me a lesson, which, of all others, I find so exceedingly difficult to learn; I mean that of so numbering my days as to apply my heart unto wisdom. The removal of my dear mother-in-law, the unusual number of deaths among all descriptions of persons in my own immediate neighbourhood, and especially that of Mrs. Fletcher; all these conspiring circumstances loudly enforce the necessity of being sober and watching unto prayer, of having my loins girt and my lamp burning, of being in a prepared posture of expectation, waiting for the coming of my Lord. These effects, I am thankful to state, have in some measure been gratefully traced by me in my recent experience. One thing seems to me more than ever to be truly needful, not indeed the obtaining and the securing of inheritances below, but the getting prepared for my inheritance above—an inheritance to which every day and every hour spent for God is adding some increase of comfort, and which, when once possessed, will be found to be worth the possessing—an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and which fadeth not away. O my dear Mary, how does the grand enemy of our souls destroy by deluding! how does he infatuate the world at large! how gross also the deception which he practises even upon believers themselves, making then live nine-tenths of their time, if not sinfully, at least uselessly for themselves, or for the world, instead of for God and eternity, as a matter of course, instead of with a pure and single aim. But, alas! what is any action when stripped of its proper motive, I mean the glory of God. A man may give liberally to the poor, he may carefully regulate his household, bring up his children decently and even morally, and restrain his domestics from immoralities and inconsistencies. But if our liberality is connected with our own reputation, if our children be merely educated that they may bring credit and comfort to us, or if our dependents are restrained and their good consulted, because it would reflect dishonour upon us to pursue a contrary course; if these be our motives, what are they after all but mere selfishness? There is no reference to God in all these actions, and, of course, no eternal reward can be expected from them. Their reference is to ourselves and that also in our present state, but the future is left entirely out of the question. I grant, indeed, that a present reward is obtained, but this is all, and, in fact, it is all which in most cases is sought for. The benevolent man has the reputation for benevolence, which he seeks; the moral educator of his children has the satisfaction of seeing them orderly and decent, and they bring to him the temporal comfort which he desired; the strict and moral master has in the same way the present fruit of his labours. But if God’s glory, if a sincere desire of pleasing him, has not been combined with the motives of these respective individuals, no eternal fruit will be found from them. They die with this present world. How uselessly, then, if not sinfully, are the generality of persons employed, and what need have we all to strive to live more completely under the influence of unseen celestial realities! I feel these truths while I am writing them, and the earnest prayer of my soul is, that, as a consequence of them, my inheritance may rather be in reserve than in immediate possession.
TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Madeley, Salop. March 4th, 1816.
My dear Armstrong,
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You may perhaps recollect that in one of my former letters I mentioned — as a violent opposer of everything which had the least appearance of real godliness. He also has been called from among us, and that in a manner which of all others seemed most likely to excite attention, and lead to serious inquiry. O, my dear friend, what a mercy is it that our feet have not been treading in the same unhallowed paths! We see in him what we ourselves should have been, had we been left to ourselves. To the grace of God—Arminian as you conceive me to be—I am fully convinced the reason should be ascribed. Dear Mr. — bears the afflictive stroke with a union of acute feelings and perfect resignation, such as is seldom seen. I should have imagined the stroke would have almost overwhelmed him; but what cannot the grace of God enable us to bear?
You imagine that now I am fixed at Madeley, I have become more a Methodist than ever. If by the term you mean an attachment to their peculiar doctrines, I must confess that you are not very far from the mark; for I feel more than ever persuaded that with some slight modification, they are the truth. The more I pray, and study, and experience, and preach, the more do I see of their accordancy with the whole revealed will of God. All seems intelligible, all in unison. But though more decided than ever, I trust that I am no bigot. I exclude, I would deal out contemptuous pity to, no one; and, therefore, God forbid, that I should at any time lay that stress upon disputed points which should lead my dear friend to imagine, that because we do not quite see alike, that, therefore, I feel the least atom of diminution in point of affection. I can from my heart assure him that it is no such thing. Should you, however, fancy that by my coming to Madeley, I am more of a Methodist, because I am less of a Churchman; in this respect, I feel, then, I can altogether clear myself. The fact is, the more I see of Methodism, the less do I admire it. There is that party spirit, that uncommon wish to proselyte, that settled jealousy against those who are more successful in their endeavours—in short, that spirit which, if suffered to proceed, would completely undermine our most excellent Establishment, and erect itself in its stead, that though I cannot but greatly love and admire some of its members, as a body I dare not give them that countenance or support which I should do were their doctrines the only point in consideration. I therefore have adopted all that strikes me as good in their system, but at the same time keep myself and people perfectly distinct. By this means, I have ill-will and opposition to an extent which you would hardly conceive; but I go quietly and lovingly forward, and I thank God my plans have hitherto well succeeded, and I feel quite convinced that all will eventually be well. What provokes most opposition, is my using the same weapons which have so successfully been employed by themselves, and that with the increased advantage of their being combined with all the weight of influence connected with the Establishment. I wish my dear friend would try the same weapons, and he would soon see the most beneficial effects. * * * *
Believe me, with kindest regards to yourself and Mrs. A.,
Your truly affectionate Friend,
G. Mortimer.
TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Madeley, Salop. Aug. 5, 1816.
My dear Armstrong,
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Your two or three last letters, but more particularly the last of all, seem written under a degree of depression which I am greatly concerned to observe. While engaged in doing a great work, while filling an important post, and that with no small measure of patient perseverance, you suffer yourself to suppose that you are doing almost nothing. While your friends which you have left behind you are admiring the zeal and the love which have enabled you to tear yourself from the comforts of civilized and refined society, and thus to forget, as it were, your own people and your father’s house, while they are thankful for the grace of God within you, you are so discouragingly comparing yourself with a Schwartz and a Van der Kemp, as to request of your unworthy friend that he would pray for you, lest, after all, you should prove a castaway. Now, my dear Armstrong, what must I say to such feelings and requests? Must I sympathise with my dear desponding friend? I do so from my heart; but I must also chide with him: you overlook the tender mercies of God towards you; you keep your eye not on the bright side, but on that which is dark, gloomy, and foreboding; and thus faith and confidence in your loving and omnipotent Redeemer seem dormant and inactive principles. But what is the language of the Saviour under such circumstances of discouragement? It is that which he addressed to Martha at the grave of Lazarus: “Said I not unto thee, that if thou wouldst believe, thou shouldst see the glory of God?” It is that also which he used towards the afflicted father, who with tears requested that, if he could do anything, he would have compassion on him, and help him: “If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.” Believe then, my dear friend, through all your difficulties and discouragements, and your temporary darkness will be succeeded by glorious and abiding light. The clouds which for a season overspread your horizon will be dispelled, and your glistening eye will be cheered with a bright and resplendent day. Perhaps, however, you may tell me, that faith is the gift of God, and that we must wait till this hinging blessing be bestowed. But are not all the gifts of God to be obtained upon the simple condition of asking? and were you to ask for this gift, or for its increase, would the blessed God deny it? I have often found it exceedingly useful to my own mind, after having fallen upon my knees to pray to that God who has promised to give to us all that we ask in faith,—I have found it profitable to ask previously, that the Lord would give me faith to believe, that the petitions which I should present before his throne of grace, would be answered by him, and, as a consequence, my faith has been strengthened far beyond its usual exercise. And with regard to discouraging circumstances, my constant prayer has been that my faith might not fail. Since I came into this parish, I have had difficulties to encounter, such as some of my dearest friends and fellow-labourers have confessed that they should not have dared to meet, and I must acknowledge, that, at times, I have sighed, and wept, and groaned, being burdened; and have had many a thought of leaving my arduous post to some more intrepid and persevering spirit. But something seemed continually to be whispering to my dejected mind, “only believe,” “let not your faith fail you,” and I blessed God that through all I was enabled, in some sort, to believe, though not without many a tremulous assertion, and equally trembling prayer, “Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief.” And it is with unfeigned gratitude towards the blessed God, that I feel it my duty to add, that all my storms have, for the present at least, completely blown over, and that success has been vouchsafed to my poor mean insignificant labours, such as my most sanguine expectations could in no wise have imagined. Should I not say, then, to my dear friend, as an experimental result “from believing verily to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living,”—“O tarry thou the Lord’s leisure, be strong, and he shall comfort thine heart;” “Wait, I say, on the Lord”? But here I feel, as usual, that I must check myself. I forget to whom I am writing, and likewise what I am inditing: I forget that I am addressing one who has that anointing from above which teacheth all things, and that I am not composing a sermon, but scribbling a letter.
I know not whether you were acquainted with S—, of our college, and B—, of Trinity. The former I used occasionally to meet, and was accustomed to consider him as one of the very holiest men at college. Since my last letter, however, he, B—, and two others, have left the Church, because they could not read the ten commandments, and are now preaching all the heights and depths of eternal election, eternal justification, and eternal sanctification: they have likewise begun to ordain others, and R— K—, the member for L—, has vacated his seat, and received ordination from them. The moderate Calvinists are endeavouring to stop the growing evil, but I am sorry to say, that among many it is sadly spreading. It has had one good effect, however; it has made many of the high men, as they are termed, much more guarded and circumspect. * * * *
Mary and my brother unite with me in very kindest love to yourself, and most respectful and affectionate remembrances to Mrs. A., and I may likewise add, in very best wishes and earnest prayers for your dear children.
I remain your very sincere Friend,
George Mortimer.
TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Madeley, Sept. 30, 1816.
My dear Armstrong,
I suppose that you are aware, that, as resident curate, I am entitled to the use of the vicarage-house. During Mrs. Fletcher’s life, I waved my claim in her favour: but after her decease, I applied to the vicar, and now that it has been put into pretty extensive repair, we have taken up our abode in it, and a most holy happy spot we do indeed find it. In the room where I am now writing, some of my older parishioners state, that they have frequently taken their tea with both Mr. and Mrs. F., and well remember the happy seasons they enjoyed. In the room in which we commonly sit, they both of them departed in the Lord. In a third chamber, Mr. F was accustomed to retire for more private and wrestling prayer, and, as we read in his life, the wall of which was stained with his breath while importunately pleading. Another room has the bureau at which he was accustomed to write, and which, with many other things, he left in his will for the use of his successors, that the house might not be the worse for his having had it. In a word, almost every spot and fixture reminds us pleasingly of those exalted characters who have preceded us, and call forth many an earnest prayer, and many a private ejaculation, that those who follow them may drink deeper and deeper into their blessed spirit, and tread more and more closely in their pious and spiritual steps.
Dear Mrs. Fletcher once mentioned to us, that one day, shortly after her coming to Madeley, she remarked to Mr. F., as they were entering upon their premises, that she did not know how it was, but that she always felt a measure of divine influence whenever she entered within the gate. The holy man answered that he was not surprised to hear her say so, for that there was not a single brick or a stone in the whole premises which had not been sanctified by prayer. I feel somewhat in the same way with Mrs. F—, and though I am aware that God is everywhere present, and that all spots may equally share in this his glorious presence, yet I cannot but think that some places are privileged beyond others, and though, perhaps, my Honduras friend may smile at his Madeley enthusiast, yet I must frankly confess to you, that I consider it as no small privilege that I dwell in the house, as well as labour in the parish, of one so peculiarly devoted to God. The days I have already spent here have been, without any exception, the happiest I have spent upon earth. Week after week has rolled round in the peaceful enjoyment of the presence of the blessed God. My most painful and laborious duties have been not only easy, but a source of thankfulness and joy far beyond any of my former experience. In a word, I seem to have known some little, at least, of what is so beautifully described in one of my favourite hymns:—
“Far above all earthly things,
While yet my hands are here employed;
Sees my soul the King of kings
And freely talks with God.”
Pray for me, my dear Armstrong, that these feelings may not be transitory, but abiding and ever increasing. I too often rest contented with the mere husks of religion, instead of feeding on the substantial and the nourishing corn. I am too generally satisfied with the outward life of the Christian, the regulation of my conduct, temper, disposition, pursuits, and so on; while that inward life of God within the soul, that communion with the Father of spirits and the Son of his love, is too commonly overlooked. I want a deep work of his grace within my soul, and this I am now endeavouring in my poor feeble way to pray for, if so be that I may eventually obtain; but my unbelieving heart tells me, that I never was cut out for anything like spirituality. One text of Scripture, however, still encourages me, “This is the will of God even your sanctification;” and therefore though faint, I would still be persevering.
To-morrow evening, being the first Tuesday after quarter-day, our church classes hold their quarterly meetings for the second time. The first time of their meeting was a season which will long be remembered by me with gratitude. My heart quite melted to hear so many declare, that, under God, they owned their first religious good to my poor feeble ministrations, and when in the fulness of their hearts they could not refrain from thanking the good Lord who had brought me among them. And I felt the more astonished and thankful inasmuch as I never had a fourth part of the like success in all the former years put together in which I had been labouring elsewhere. Oh, what shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits conferred upon me? I will take the cup of salvation and call upon the name of the Lord—still call upon him for his future help and blessing, for without this I feel I can do nothing. Our little classes, I am thankful to state, are gradually increasing. I think we reckon sixty-seven in all. As to one or two, I feel constrained to stand in doubt, but the rest I trust are sincere souls. But, while I thus number my little flock, I feel that there is necessity to guard against the spirit of David: I endeavour to do this, and to sink down before God under a continual sense of my own nothingness; but pride is a subtle enemy, and, as Dr. Watts so correctly observes,
“We cannot make his glories known,
But self-applause creeps in.”
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